


Desecration

by AnyaYanko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Lives, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Sex, Discussions of sex & sexuality, Dumbledore & Harry have a consensual relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone lives, Evil Voldemort (Harry Potter), Father Figures, Good Albus Dumbledore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Poetic Justice, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Revenge, Therapy, Underage Rape/Non-con, Voldemort (Harry Potter) Dies, Voldemort Rapes Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2020-09-06 18:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaYanko/pseuds/AnyaYanko
Summary: Everything goes wrong that night in the Graveyard. Dumbledore is there to pick up the pieces.





	1. The Graveyard

  


The spell hit him full in the chest, paralysing him instantly. His wand fell from his hand and rolled away across the dirt. His back cracked against a gravestone.

The terrible, searing pain down his spine was the only thing that told him he was still alive. The rest of his body felt dull and heavy, the nerves unresponsive, and he couldn’t so much as wriggle a finger or blink an eyelid. It was as if he’d been turned to stone.

In that moment he knew that Voldemort had won. He was utterly at his mercy, unable to fight back, defend himself or even scream in fear. The death-eaters knew it too. They all cheered with delight to see him sprawled out on the ground, limp as a rag doll. Their cries grew even more raucous when Voldemort bent down to retrieve Harry’s wand and held it up triumphantly.

He met Harry’s eyes deliberately before taking the thin strip of wood in both hands and splitting it in two. It snapped cleanly, like a common twig, it’s magical core breaking in an instant without so much as a splutter of sparks.

Voldemort smiled, threw away the pieces carelessly, and took a step toward Harry.

‘I think,’ he said in a silky voice. ‘You will bow to me now. Won’t you?’

He brandished his own wand, the twin of Harry’s broken one, and cast another unfamiliar spell. To Harry’s horror, his body started to move of his own accord, legs unfurling from underneath himself and arms stretching out. 

He tried to fight against it, like he had the imperious curse, but this control seemed to come from outside of his body and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was as if there was someone much larger and stronger than him grabbing at his limbs and pushing them into position. In moments he found himself on his knees before Voldemort, palms flat against the soil.

‘Good,’ Voldemort purred. ‘That’s much better, isn’t it? You’re an obedient little puppet now.’

As if to illustrate his point he flicked his wand upwards and Harry felt his head jerk back sharply, as if pulled by an invisible thread. His eyes watered and his back ached but there was nothing he could do but stare and stare with a doll’s glassy open eyes.

‘I want you to look at me,’ Voldemort advised coldly. ‘I want you to stare into the face of your killer and know just how futile it was to have ever dreamt of fighting.’

He tilted his head to one side, scarlet eyes narrowing slightly.

‘Then again,’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps it’s not necessary for you to see quite so clearly.’

He took a step closer and reached out to pluck the glasses off of Harry’s face. His long, white fingers grazed Harry’s skin as he dragged them down his nose, sending a fresh jolt of pain through Harry’s scar.

Voldemort held up the glasses for everyone to see, just as he had done with Harry’s wand, and then crushed them in his hand. The glass cracked in his palm and blood trickled down his wrist.

Harry’s vision was blurred now but he could still see the expression of monstrous satisfaction on the man’s pale face. The sight of him delighting in this childish act was somehow worse than anything that had come before. He was so utterly exultant in his conquest.

‘I could just as easily pluck out your eyes,’ Voldemort crooned softly, ‘blinding you and leaving you alone in the dark.’

He opened up his hand slowly, right in front of Harry’s face, and showed him the splinters of glass lodged in his flesh.

‘But then again,’ he continued, softly. ‘That would mean you’d miss all the fun, wouldn’t you?’

His skin rippled smoothly, pushing out the broken shards and healing over again in an instant. It was dark, powerful magic, performed effortlessly, like a party trick. It would have made Harry shiver, if only he were capable of doing so.

‘So I think it’s best if you’re like this,’ Voldemort concluded. ‘Able to see, here and feel everything, but unable to stop it. Utterly helpless.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Just like when you were a baby.’

He touched Harry’s face again, quite deliberately, tracing the curve of his cheek in a slow caress. Underneath his fingertips Harry’s skin seared with pain, as if he was being burned by a hot iron.

‘Do you think he’s pretty?’ Voldemort asked suddenly, his voice high and clear. ’He’s very small and soft, really. Still such a podgy pale little boy.’

There was a murmuring amongst the death-eaters. Harry couldn’t tell whether they were agreeing or disagreeing or just laughing along at the joke. Their voices were too low and deep and their faces were obscured by their masks.

Voldemort was smiling wide though, clearly enjoying himself. His fingers moved to Harry’s collar, dipping beneath his robes. His nails scraped against the boy’s skin, underlining the burning pain with a fresh sting.

‘Let’s get a closer look at him,’ he suggested, before ripping open his robes.

He mostly used magic to undress Harry, apparently tiring of tearing the fabric as soon as he began. With one lazy flick of his wand he was able to peel away all the layers of clothes in an instant, leaving Harry cold and naked.

‘I wonder what Dumbledore would think if he saw you here like this?’ He mused, jabbing his wand again and rolling Harry onto his back. ‘His precious champion laid out like slaughtered pig!’

This elicited a clearer response from the gathering of death-eaters, who laughed loudly and spitefully.

‘He’s not got a lot of hair has he?’ Voldemort commented, rolling Harry back and forth across the dirt and examining his naked body with interest. ‘I thought he’d be darker than he is, but he’s all pale and patchy and there’s barely anything between his legs!’

‘He looks like a little girl!’ Someone yelled ecstatically, setting the crowd off again.

‘You should castrate him,’ Another voice suggested, this one deeper and rougher. ‘Cut off his little dick and balls and then send him back to Dumbledore with a stumpy, bleeding cunt!’

There was another round of laughter, this one and even louder and tinged with a palpable sense of excitement.

Voldemort did not laugh but he did grin very widely, showing off the pearly whites of his teeth.

‘That’s not a bad idea, McNair,’ he declared. ‘I wouldn’t have much to fear from a neutered little pup. I could slice him up nicely and send him back naked for everyone to see. That would certainly set the old man in a tizzy, wouldn’t it?’

He flicked his wand up and down in the air, tracing invisible lines across Harry’s body,

‘I daresay I could cut off his legs and arms too,’ he continued dreamily. ‘leave him nothing but a torso. Then he’d have to spend the rest of his days on his back, being fed and cleaned by the nurses in St Munro’s. I doubt he’d feel like much of a hero then.’

He stepped over Harry’s prone body and peered down into his face.

‘Would you like that, Harry?’ He whispered. ‘Would you like it if I spared your life like that? It really is a very generous offer.’

Harry was crying silently now. He still couldn’t move or speak but he pleaded with Voldemort with his eyes. If he could have begged out-loud he would have done so. He was too frightened and ashamed to fight.

Voldemort regraded him thoughtfully, taking in the tears in his eyes and the sweat on his brow.

‘I don’t think he would like that,’ he said silkily. ‘I think he would rather keep his limp little dick, if he had the chance.’

There was another rumble of amusement from Voldemort’s audience.

‘Why?’ Someone asked shrilly. ‘He doesn’t even know what to do with it yet!’

They all laughed cruelly. A gathering of large, grown men jeering at a feeble little boy, naked on the ground.

Voldemort frowned a little and touched a hand to Harry’s thighs. The skin stung under his touch, even worse than anywhere else had done, although Harry didn’t know why.

That was, of course, until Voldemort looked up again with a satisfied smile on his lips.

‘He’s pissed himself,’ he declared to the onlookers, who all shrieked in response.

Harry felt his stomach lurch. He hadn’t felt it happen but he knew that Voldemort was telling the truth. His thighs were damp with urine and the ground wet beneath him.

‘Poor little boy,’ Voldemort crooned, moving his hand up to Harry’s head and combing his fingers through his hair in an imitation of tenderness. ‘We must have really scared him.’

He paused for a moment, the dark slits of his eyes fixed on Harry’s face.

‘You know,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I really do think he is petty, after all. When he’s all weak and helpless anyway. He’s so small and delicate, just like a little doll.’

He raised his wand again and guided Harry back onto his knees.

‘Perhaps I will be merciful,’ he mused, ‘for a little while longer. You’ll learn to serve me before you die, Harry. Worship me, even. That’s the greatest gift I can give you.’

Harry didn’t understand what he meant by this. Even as the man prised open his jaw and slid his fingers inside. It was only when Voldemort started to peel open his robes and expose himself that his intentions became clear.

Harry still couldn’t fight or struggle. All he could do was kneel there and wait to be used. He wished with all his heart that he could at least close his eyes. He would have given anything not to see what was coming.

It hurt, just like any other time that Voldemort had touched him, making his mouth burn and blister. It made him choke too, his throat convulsing automatically and his nostrils flaring wide.

‘Now, now,’ Voldemort murmured, his voice still alarmingly calm. ‘You can do better than that.’

He pushed Harry’s head back, making the little bones in his neck crack, and cast another spell on him, making his lips and throat all soft and rubbery. After that, there was no more choking or gagging, just the blistering pain and humiliation.

The death-eaters weren’t laughing or jeering anymore. They had fallen silent and were watching the proceedings grimly, as if it was sort of a play put on for their benefit.

If they were enjoying what they were seeing they kept their excitement to themselves. Perhaps they thought that any overt displays of appreciation might be met with disapproval. It was impossible to know what Voldemort wanted in this moment and it was dangerous to upset him.

When it was over, Harry somehow managed to be sick, vomit soaring up from his stomach and dribbling out of his unprotesting lips. In response, Voldemort reached down and slapped him across the face.

‘You dirty little wretch,’ he hissed, with a genuine disgust that shocked and perplexed Harry. ‘I ought to wash your mouth out with soap.’

He clearly had other things on his mind though and didn’t use so much as a scouring spell on Harry.

After a moment’s consideration, he lifted up Harry’s naked body with a levitating spell and draped him over the top of a large tombstone, so that his arms and legs dangled out over either side.

‘We’re not done yet, Harry,’ he explained calmly. ‘You’ll know when we’re done. When I’m done with you.’

This time, Harry understood exactly what was coming and felt dread and hopelessness overwhelm him. He couldn’t cringe away, couldn’t even flinch as the man pushed inside him. He wished that he could at least scream, but all that came out of his mouth was a winded little gasp.

Each thrust was agony, a natural pain coupled with a supernatural one, stretching accompanied by burning. Harry was sure that he was being torn right open, that his body was being broken beyond repair and that he would never be the same again.

‘Does it hurt?’ Voldemort murmured. ‘Is it too much for you?’ My poor, little lamb.’

He snaked one hand around Harry’s waist and grasped at his limp penis.

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll make it feel better.’

He squeezed hard and sent a sudden pulse of magic straight into him. Harry felt it surge deep into his pelvis, rolling through him like a warm electric current, the sensation so intense that he almost didn’t recognise it. Then he felt the familiar tug and quiver, the heady ache and hunger for more.

‘That feels good doesn’t it?’ Voldemort crooned. ‘You’re getting nice and hard for me now. You’d like some more wouldn’t you?’

He sent another bolt of magic into Harry’s body and then another and another, timing each hit to the rhythm of his thrusts. The pain seemed to fade away against the overwhelming tide of pleasure and Harry quickly found himself teetering on the edge of a climax, longing for relief.

‘You’re enjoying this now,’ Voldemort taunted. ‘You’re enjoying me fucking you.’

He tilted his head closer, pressing his mouth right up against Harry’s ear.

‘I’m going to fuck you to death, Harry,’ he panted wetly. ‘The last thing you’ll ever feel is me, inside you, making you come.’

His wand was at his throat, digging into his skin, and yet somehow Harry still managed to climax, along with his tormenter.

Voldemort did not cast the killing curse, as he had promised, but instead withdrew to clean himself up and straighten his robes.

He ignored Harry for quite some time, leaving him draped over the tombstone, before finally coming back and kicking him down to ground.

‘I’m going to give you one more chance to speak before you die,’ he told him. ‘If you’re wise, you’ll admit that I am the rightful master of this world and beg for a quick, painless death.’

And he lifted the paralysing spell from Harry, so suddenly that Harry hardly realised what was happening.

The first thing Harry did once he realised that he had possession of his body, was to try and cover himself up with his hands, even though it was far too late for that.

‘Would you like your robes back?’ Voldemort asked lazily. ‘I could give them to you, if you want?’

Harry nodded weakly. ‘Please,’ he croaked. ‘Please.’

That was all Voldemort needed. He smiled indulgently and waved his wand and Harry found himself dressed in his red and gold robes again.

‘There you are,’ Voldemort said pleasantly. ‘Now, I would like you to bow before me again, this time of your own free will.’

Harry understood the role he needed to play now. He moved slowly to his knees and bowed his head down.

‘Please,’ he said again. ‘Please just kill me. I just want it to be over.’

He meant it too, and Voldemort could tell, in the way he could always tell whether someone was lying or telling the truth. He smiled serenely, raising his wand up high, and Harry prepared himself for death.

But then he saw something, just behind Voldemort, a glitter of gold - the Triwizard cup - _just there_, less than three feet away. Close enough to run to, perhaps, if he could just find the strength. If he could just make one last effort.

‘Avada - ‘


	2. The Hospital Wing

He was back in the hospital wing again, large screens surrounding his bed. A clean, white sheet draped right over him, like a shroud on a corpse.The rest of the ward was quite empty. Dumbledore had shooed everyone else away, insisting that he needed to speak to Harry alone. Even Madame Pomfrey had made herself scarce.

Dumbledore had listened carefully as Harry related the story of Voldemort’s resurrection, only interrupting him occasionally to ask questions. When he was finally done though he continued to sit there waiting, as if he knew there was more.

‘Is there anything else you want to tell me, Harry?’ He prompted. ‘Anything else I need to know?’

His eyes were very bright and intense, his expression knowing.

‘I can tell there’s something else troubling you. Something really bad that you need to talk about.’

Harry suppressed a shudder and looked away. ‘I don’t know think I can. ‘I don’t know how.’

‘Just your time,’ Dumbledore told him. ‘Start at the beginning and go on until there’s nothing more to tell.’  
  
Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Voldemort tried to put the imperious curse on me, to make me bow before him, but it didn’t work. I fought it off, just like Professor Moody taught me - ‘

‘Professor Moody?’ Dumbledore interrupted sharply. ‘He taught you how to resist the imperious curse?’

‘Yes,’ Harry blinked up at Dumbledore. ‘He said he had your permission.’

The old man looked troubled, but brushed his concerns away. ‘Well, never mind that now. Please, continue, Harry.’

‘R-right,’ Harry said, in a wavering voice. ‘Well after that he decided to put a different spell on me instead. I don’t know what it was but it sort of paralysed me so I couldn’t move or talk at all. Then he made me move by magic, as if I was a puppet or something, and made me kneel before him.’

He swallowed deeply and slid his hands under the sheets. They were trembling quite badly now and he felt the need to hide them from view.

‘Then he - he stripped me naked and started taunting me, making jokes about my body, and then - and then - ‘

Harry tried and failed to continue to the next part of his story. It was just too much.

‘I don’t want to say what he did,’ he whispered weakly. ‘I don’t even know what words to use.’

He could tell that Dumbledore understood though. The old man went very still for a few moments and then reached out to squeeze Harry’s arm.

‘He made you perform some sort of sex act?’ He asked gently.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Yes.’

Dumbledore’s hand tightened around his arm. ‘Did he rape you?’

Harry nodded once again. ‘Yes. He - he raped me.’

The words were terrible in their own way but they were also sterile and simple compared to what had actually happened. The reality had been raw and strange and disgusting and there was no language to describe it.

Harry looked up at the headmaster, suddenly desperate to explain everything properly. He couldn’t possible just leave at that. How would Dumbledore ever truly understand?

‘He used magic on me while he was doing it,’ Harry blurted out. ‘He made me - made me enjoy it.’  
  
Dumbledore sighed softly, as if he had been expected this.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he told Harry. ‘You didn’t want it to happen. He forced you.’

‘No,’ Harry agreed uncertainly. ‘I didn’t, but it still happened and I can’t bear the idea of anyone knowing that Voldemort did that to me.’

‘No one else needs to know,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘Not if you don’t want them to.’

Harry looked up at him hopelessly.

‘But the death-eaters were all there, watching it happen,’ he whispered. ‘They saw everything.’

He felt tears forming in his eyes again, burning the sore, red flesh about his lashes.

‘That was the worst part of it. All those grown men just standing there and watching. No one said anything, did anything. I just don’t understand how they could watch something like that. What were they thinking? Did they enjoy it?’

He was trembling all over now, shaking as if he was about to have a fit.

‘I mean, even Draco’s dad was there! I heard his name called! And he knows me. He’s met me before. He’s seen me at school, with his son, and now he’s seen me like that too. He’s seen Lord Voldemort do that to me. He even saw me, you know.’

Harry couldn’t quite finish the sentence properly, although he was sure that Dumbledore understood what he meant.

‘I just can’t bear the thought of them all walking around thinking about it.’ He finished miserably. ‘I don’t want them to have those images in their heads.’

Dumbledore leant closer. His eyes were filled with a strange, blue fire that Harry had never seen before and he was trembling too, with rage. Harry could actually feel the magic rolling off of him like heat.

‘Do you wish that they were dead?’ He asked quietly. His calm, clear voice quite at odds with the burning fury in his eyes.

Harry sunk back against the pillows. ‘I-I don’t know,’ he stuttered. ‘I guess so. I know it’s wrong but I just want it to be like it never happened. I just want them all gone.’

Dumbledore flicked his fingers and a ream of parchment and a quill appeared in the air. He handed them gently to Harry.

‘Write down their names for me.’

Harry stared up at the headmaster, eyes wide and wet, and took the parchment in his trembling hands.

‘I - I don’t think I can remember them all.’

‘That’s alright,’ Dumbledore said gently. ‘Just write down as many names as you can remember.’

Harry wrote slowly, one name after another, in a shaky hand that was barely legible. Avery. Knott. McNair. He paused for a moment, after he penned the name Malfoy.

‘I don’t think I want Mr Malfoy dead,’ he said quietly. ‘I would feel so sorry for Draco. It’s not his fault.’

‘That’s alright,’ Dumbledore said again. ‘He doesn’t have to die. Not if you don’t want him to.’

Harry gripped the quill tightly. ‘What about Crabbe and Goyle? I don’t think I want them dead, either.’

‘That’s fine, too. Just add their names to the list so we have them all. I won’t forget what you’ve said.’

Harry did as he was told. When he had put down all the names he could remember he laid down the quill and pushed the parchment towards the headmaster. Dumbledore made it vanish in a second, as if it had never been there in the first place.

‘Thank you, Harry. I know that can’t have been easy for you.’ He reached out and took the boy’s hand. ‘You don’t need to worry about the death eaters now. I’ll take care of them.’

Harry stared at him incredulously, wondering once more if he really meant what he thought he meant.

‘There’s one more thing I need to ask you, Harry,’ Dumbledore continued briskly. ‘I’m afraid it’s very unpleasant, but I have to know. Did Lord Voldemort finish inside you?’

Harry shrank away from the headmaster, his heart pounding in his chest.

‘Yes,’ he admitted, fearfully.

For the second time that night a strange look of triumph flashed across Dumbledore’s face, although Harry couldn’t possibly see why. This was even stranger than the first time, when he had told the headmaster about Voldemort taking his blood. How could something like this possibly be good news?

‘He didn’t clean you up, afterwards?’ Dumbledore pressed. ‘And you haven’t washed at all?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No. I - I just came up here with you.’ He felt his face burn with shame. ‘I know it’s so disgusting.’

Dumbledore raised one hand urgently. ‘Please don’t apologise, Harry. You’ve done everything right tonight, I assure you.’

He drew out his wand from within his robes and regarded Harry seriously. ‘I would like to clean you now properly, with magic. I wouldn’t have to touch you at all, but I would have to undress you.’

He paused, turning his wand over and over in his hands, brows knitting together in worry.

‘I think it would be best if I put you to sleep and wake you up once it’s done. Do you think you would be comfortable with that?’

Harry ducked down further under the covers, gripping the thin top sheet compulsively.

‘Would you have to look at me?’ He asked fearfully. ‘Would you have to see everything?’

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, I’m so sorry Harry. It’s very important though.’

Harry remembered how Dumbledore had wrapped his cloak around him and carried him up to the hospital wing in his arms. He had almost certainly seen the blood on his legs right away but he had stopped anyone else from seeing.

‘Okay,’ Harry said quietly. ‘You can do that. I trust you.’

**

When Harry woke he felt very light and clean. There was a slight scent of mint clinging to his skin and his hands seemed unbelievably soft and smooth.

‘You cleaned under my nails,’ he commented groggily, ‘and cut them.’

‘Actually, I did a bit more than that,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘I stripped off the top layer of your skin entirely. I thought you’d like that better than just being scrubbed clean.’

Harry frowned a little. ’Oh. Have you still got the skin? I’d like to see that.’

‘It wasn’t all in one piece,’ Dumbledore said, sounding amused, ‘and I didn’t keep any of it. The spell burns it up as it goes along.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said again. ‘Are the nails new then?’

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘It’s all new. Except the teeth, of course. You don’t replace teeth unless you have to.’

‘My mouth tastes good though,’ Harry murmured appreciatively. ‘Like I’ve swallowed a gallon of mouthwash and it’s - ungh - really smooth.’

‘The skin’s new,’ Dumbledore reminded him, ’and I cast a refreshment charm all over you which gives that nice peppermint smell.’

‘It’s new on the inside too?’ Harry exclaimed, slipping his fingers inside his mouth and poking curiously at his gums.

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore said, his smile fading a little. ‘Especially on the inside.’

Harry drew back the sheets to inspect his toes and exclaimed with delight when he found ten of them there, all with new nails.

‘How are you feeling?’ Dumbledore asked uncertainly.

‘A little loopy,’ Harry admitted. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘The sleeping spell was properly too strong,’ Dumbledore said guiltily, ‘and I woke you up far too quickly.’

‘How long have I been asleep?’ Harry asked.

‘Just over an hour,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘Not that long at all.’

‘I suppose that explains it,’ Harry murmured. ‘I feel alright though. I could go right back to sleep too, if you want.’

‘Not just yet,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘There’s a couple of things I want to discuss with you first, if you’re up to it.’

‘Okay,’ Harry agreed.

Dumbledore sat down on the bed beside Harry.

‘In light of what’s happened, I’d prefer you to stay at Hogwarts this summer. I know you’ve always been safe with your aunt and uncle, but I don’t think it’s the best environment for you to recover in.’

‘That’s fine with me,’ Harry replied. ‘You know I hate going back to the Dursley’s.’

Dumbledore nodded seriously. ‘My only concern is that you’ll be alone in the dormitory. I was thinking maybe we could get you a dog or something to keep you company.’

Harry frowned. ‘I don’t think I really like dogs,’ he said, thinking of Aunt Marge’s Rottweiler. ‘I certainly don’t know if I want one as a pet.’

‘I was thinking of asking Hagrid to let you borrow Fang,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘but then he won’t be any good for protection. He’ll just take up a lot of room and drool all over the place.’

‘There’s always fluffy, of course,’ Harry suggested playfully. ‘He’d certainly be good protection.’

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore replied. ’Not much comfort though,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll think about it for a bit and see what if I can come up.

He fiddled with the hospital sheets, straightening them over Harry’s chest.

‘The other thing I wanted to suggest is that you come visit me at least once every week from now on.’

‘What for?’

‘Therapy.’

Harry felt his stomach clench uncomfortably.

‘I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore.’

‘That’s fine,’ Dumbledore assured him, ‘but I still want you to come and see me once every week.’

Harry decided not to argue although he hated the idea of checking-in with the headmaster.

‘Alright,’ he grumbled. ‘Is that everything?’

‘I think so.’

They sat in silence for a little while. Harry rubbed at his eyes.

‘Will you stay here until I fall asleep again?’ He asked.

‘Yes, of course.’

Harry snuggled down deeper under the covers and closed his eyes. He could still feel the lingering effects of the sleeping spell working on him, dragging him down into the darkness.

He was just about to drift away when a terrible thought occurred to him.

‘Professor?’ he called out urgently.

He felt the old man take his hand. ‘I’m still here, Harry.’

‘I need to tell you something,’ Harry said urgently, struggling to sort out the jumble in his mind. ‘Tonight, in the graveyard, there was a moment when I had to beg Lord Voldemort to kill me. I said I wanted to die and, for a moment, I really meant it.’

He forced his eyes open.

‘I know you want me to fight him,’ he croaked. ‘I know I’m supposed to - but I can’t, I just can’t. I just can’t face him again.’

The headmaster’s white hair and beard blurred in front of his eyes.

‘It’s alright, Harry,’ Dumbledore said. ‘You don’t have to. I promise. I have a plan.’

It was the last thing that Harry had expected the headmaster to say and the one thing he had longed to hear from him. It settled over his soul like a sweet balm.

‘You can’t mean that though,’ he mumbled. ‘You can’t promise me that.’

‘I can now,’ Dumbledore said firmly.

Harry closed his eyes again and sunk into the darkness


	3. Quarantine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who’s taken the time to read this story. This is just a short chapter, but I expect the next one to be longer.

  
Harry had the impression that a lot of things had happened while he was asleep. He could hear people jostling each other in the hallway, conducting frantic conversations. Beyond the calm and quiet of the hospital wing, the school was a bustling hive of activity, buzzing with hundreds of frightened and excitable students. Harry was the only one lying quiet and still, lacking the energy to even lift his head.

‘How’s he doing?’ He heard Dumbledore say, in an undertone.

‘As well as can be expected,’ Madame Pomfrey replied. ‘Very weak and disorientated, of course, but otherwise unharmed.’

Harry assumed that they were talking about him until Madame Pomfrey added, ‘He’s desperate to get up and about again. I practically had to wrestle him back into the bed.’

‘Well, he’s been locked up for months now,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘It’s no wonder he wants to be free.’ He let out a heavy sigh. ‘Let me talk to him. If he feels well enough to get up then we should let him.’

He noticed Harry staring at them.

‘Good morning Harry. How are you feeling?’

‘Okay,’ Harry lied.

Instinctively he reached out for his glasses and found them waiting for him on the nightstand. He had picked them up and put them on before he even remembered that they ought to be broken into little pieces and lying in the dirt many miles away.

‘These are new,’ he said slowly.

‘That’s right,’ Dumbledore confirmed.

‘How did you know my prescription?’

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. ‘I _am_ a wizard.’

Harry could tell that he was trying to be funny, but he wasn’t in a laughing mood. The sweet effects of the sleeping spell had faded away, leaving only a hollow numbness in their place.

‘Who were you talking about before?’ Harry asked. ‘Has someone else been hurt?’

He wasn’t sure he could handle any more bad news.

‘Alastor Moody,’ Dumbledore said gravely. ‘He’s not badly injured though, just shaken.’

Dumbledore took a seat beside his bed, looking very sad and serious.

‘I’m afraid this will come as something of a shock but I have to inform you that the man who you knew as Alastor Moody was an imposter. Someone else has been pretending to be my old friend all year, using Polyjuice potion to assume his appearance.’

Harry’s head began to throb. ‘Then ... who ... ?’

‘We are not sure yet,’ Dumbledore said, ‘although I have my suspicions. Someone loyal to Lord Voldemort who has likely been working for him all this time.’

He started to explain further, but Harry found it difficult to follow. Dumbledore noticed this and stopped.

‘Please don’t trouble yourself about this now,’ he told Harry. ‘I promise I can talk you through it later, if you wish, but there isn’t anything you need to know urgently.’

Harry nodded gratefully.

‘Your friends have been asking for you,’ Dumbledore told him. ‘Do you feel ready to see them?’

Harry looked down helplessly at his clean new pyjamas and clean new skin. He could see that there was nothing physically wrong with him, no excuse for refusing visitors, and yet he was desperate to avoid being seen. He still felt dirty and bruised, like a rotten piece of fruit, and was sure the damage would show through the surface of his skin.

‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ Dumbledore said decisively. ‘Madame Pomfrey thinks you could still do with a little more rest and I have to say, I agree.’

He got up again, pausing only to squeeze at Harry’s shoulder.

‘I’ll come check on you again later.’

**

Ron and Hermione were both a little nervous around him. They kept glancing at one another for reassurance before speaking.

‘Dumbledore had a huge argument with Fudge.’ Hermione told him in a hushed tone. ‘I think he’s still in denial about what’s happening. He doesn’t want to believe that you-know-who’s returned.’

‘He’s launching a search for Cedric though,’ Ron added. ‘He knows he can’t just cover up the fact that he’s missing.’

’Cedric’s not missing. He’s dead.’

‘Oh, we know!’ Hermione said quickly, ‘but Fudge doesn’t believe it. He says there’s no evidence and he doesn’t want to cause a panic.’

‘I saw Lord Voldemort murder him,’ Harry said dully. ‘It happened right in front of me.’

‘We know!’ Ron insisted. ‘Dumbledore told us!’

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, tugging at the sleeves of his Pyjamas. The sleeves were long, the material thick, and yet he still felt uncomfortably exposed.

‘Has Dumbledore told everyone?’ He asked. ‘About Voldemort coming back, I mean.’

Ron shook his head. ‘No everyone. Just a few people. Everyone’s heard the rumours though, it’s all around the school already.’

‘Dumbledore made a short speech at breakfast today,’ Hermione told him, ‘but he didn’t go into details. He just said that they’d hear the full story soon enough and told them not to bother you with questions.’

Harry felt a great surge of gratitude towards Dumbledore. He had been dreading being mobbed by curious students.

‘When are you getting out?’ Ron asked. ‘You look like you’re doing loads better.’

Harry was sure that Ron was just trying to be nice. Something of his sickness must surely show in his face. He hadn’t looked in a mirror since he got back, afraid of what he might see.

‘Tomorrow’.

‘Good, good,’ Hermione said, with false brightness. ‘It will be really good to have you back. We’ve missed you.’

**


	4. Repression

Harry’s therapy sessions with Dumbledore were scheduled for Monday evenings, just after dinner. The headmaster made sure to remind him about their first appointment several times in the days leading up to it, so there was no way that Harry could pretend to have forgotten about it.

The headmaster’s office was very light and warm when he arrived, with a large fire blazing in the grate and several dozen candles burning on the walls, even though the sun had only just gone down.

‘Come in, Harry,’ Dumbledore urged. ‘Take a seat.’

Reluctantly went to take his usual seat at the other side of the headmaster’s desk. He smiled weakly when he saw the little Phoenix sat on its perch by the window.

‘Hello Fawkes.’

The Phoenix let out a little chirrup in greeting and then came straight to him, fluttering down to his lap and nipping at robes. Harry reached down to caress the bird’s throat but caught himself, just in time, and drew his hand away before his fingers had a chance to sully the perfect feathers.

‘Don’t worry,’ Dumbledore said. ‘He likes to be fussed over. Please pet him as much as you like.’

Harry hesitated, his hand hovering in the air, until the bird let out another high-pitched cry and starting nuzzling against his palm. At that point he couldn’t hold back any more and started petting the creature gently, delighting in the warmth that radiated from his fat little body.

‘There now,’ Dumbledore declared with satisfaction. ‘He’s being thoroughly spoiled. What a lucky little thing.’

Harry flushed with shame, certain that it was the Phoenix indulging him and not the other way around. Fawkes couldn’t possibly want his dirty hands all over him but was making this sacrifice out of kindness.

‘I have been thinking that Fawkes here might be the perfect creature to keep you company once the dormitory is empty.’ Dumbledore continued. ‘He can fly over to you each night and leave in the morning, with no fuss or trouble.’

Harry looked up in surprise. ‘You mean, you’ll lend him to me?’

‘Fawkes is not my property, Harry. In fact, to even call him my pet is somewhat presumptuous. He goes wherever he pleases. However I am certain he would be happy to watch over you while you sleep if I ask him to do so.’

In order to express its agreement the Phoenix lifted his head up and sung out a short, sweet melody. The sound of the music seemed to warm Harry from the inside, as if he’d just swallowed a large mouthful of hot chocolate.

‘Phoenix song is very soothing,’ Dumbledore commented dreamily. ‘I am sure that it will help you to get to sleep and restore your spirits if you have any nightmares.’

Harry had not told Dumbledore that he was having trouble sleeping but the man must have guessed as much. It was to be expected, given everything he’d been through.

‘Couldn’t you just give me a draft of dreamless sleep or put me under with a spell again?’ Harry asked hopefully.

Dumbledore shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry, Harry, but I need to try fall asleep naturally and allow yourself to dream.’

‘Why?’ Harry queried.

Dumbledore regarded him with one of his long, appraising looks, as if debating how much Harry could take. There was obviously a lot that Dumbledore was still keeping from him but in the end he seemed to decide that Harry deserved some sort of explanation.

‘In the past you’ve sometimes had visions into what Voldemort is currently saying or doing. If you have any dreams like this then I want you to come and tell me right away. I need to know what exactly you’ve seen.’

Harry felt his stomach twist. ‘Do I have to?’

‘I wouldn’t ask you to do this unless it was absolutely necessary,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘I am doing everything I can to fight Lord Voldemort and I cannot do it alone. There are many other people who are on our side, of course, all risking their lives for the cause, but this is a service that only you can perform. I promise that this is the only thing I will ask you to do in order to help me.’

Harry felt guilty for shying away from the task when so many others were putting their lives on the line, and yet he was terrified of being thrown back into Lord Voldemort’s mind, of seeing what he saw and feeling what he felt.

‘I can’t promise I’ll have any dreams like that,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time since I had one. It was mostly leading up to his return.’

‘I know,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘I’m not asking you to try and force it, just to let me know if it does happen.’

He reached across to take Harry’s hand.

‘Please forgive me for asking this of you. I imagine the last thing you want right now is to feel connected to Lord Voldemort.’

Harry swallowed hard, bile rising in his chest, but he did not pull his hand away.

‘In any case, there’s no need to worry about that now,’ Dumbledore said, reaching into his robes. ‘I have a gift for you that I think will cheer you up considerably.’

He drew out a long, thin wand and handed it over to Harry, who took it with interest. When he examined it closely, turning it over in his hands, he saw that it was utterly identical to the one that he had lost.

‘I wrote to Ollivander and asked him to make you a replacement,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘I am sure that it will perform just as well your last one, given that the magical core is exactly the same.’

He gestured at the little bird still sat in Harry’s lap.

‘We’re very fortunate to have access to the same Phoenix that gifted the original feather. It was no trouble for him to sacrifice another.’

Harry held out his wand to test it, directing the tip at one of the bookshelves and calling out, ‘Accio Book.’

At once, half a dozen heavy tomes flew off of the shelves, hitting him straight in the face and almost breaking his nose.

‘A nice, strong summoning spell,’ Dumbledore said, clearing the books away again and fixing Harry’s face in a single swoop of his own wand. ‘Although, I might suggest being a little more specific next time. I have a great many books in this office and if you called them all at once they would probably batter you to death.’

‘That would certainly be a silly way to go,’ Harry said dully, ‘after all I’ve survived.’

‘Quite,’ Dumbledore agreed.

Harry was very grateful to have a wand again, as being without one had made him feel especially weak and vulnerable, but he couldn’t quite manage to feel really happy about it. It was as if he’d been cut off from all his emotions. There was an empty pit where his heart ought to be.

‘How have you been getting on, back with the rest of the Gryiffindors?’ Dumbledore asked him. ‘Have you been to sleep at all?’

Harry didn’t know what to say to this. He couldn’t possibly tell the headmaster that he slept in in his invisibility cloak every single night and gagged himself with a sock just in case he woke up screaming.

All he wanted was to disappear entirely without anyone noticing and to stop feeling altogether, but he knew that wasn’t a healthy way of thinking. It wasn’t as if he wanted to die exactly, he just found it impossible to continue living his life as he had done before.

‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s hard with everyone looking at me all the time. I can usually get a little sleep though.’

‘And how are you coping during the day?’

‘I’m just ... trying not to think about it.’

‘Of course,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘Is that working?’ He paused for a moment, reading Harry’s expression. ‘Or are you having trouble keeping the memories at bay?’

Harry bent his head down lower. ‘Sometimes,’ he confessed. ‘It’s just all too clear, too real.’

He steadied his hands against the Phoenix’s back, drawing courage from its warmth, and then glared up at the headmaster.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he told him. ‘I don’t see what good it will do to go over it again and again, so if that’s what you want me to do then I’m sorry, but I just won’t. I just know it will only make it worse.’

Dumbledore considered for a while.

‘No,’ he said, eventually. ‘I don’t think that it will help you to relieve the events if you don’t want to. Sometimes it can help to talk about your thoughts and your feelings - ‘

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Dumbledore waved one hand frantically.

‘- but - but, Harry, if you do not wish to do that I will not force you to. You have lived through something incredibly distressing and you must cope with it however you think best. I only wish to help you do so.’

Harry was relieved to hear this.

‘How?’ He asked.

’I have a suggestion.’

Dumbledore reached into his robes again and brought out his own wand.

‘With your consent, I could draw the memories out of your mind and let them dissolve in the air. That wouldn’t destroy them, you understand, just drive them to the back of your mind. They would retreat for a while, like old, distant ones, and give you a chance to function normally.’ 

Harry stared at the headmaster. ‘Just like that?’

‘If that is what you wish?’

‘Yes,’ Harry said eagerly. ‘Yes, please.’

Dumbledore leant forward and gently pressed the tip of his hand to Harry’s forehead. Harry closed his eyes and let himself recall the horrors of the night in the graveyard. For a moment, his mouth and nose were filled with the smell of the assault, of sweat and blood and shit and cum, and then everything faded away again.

Harry opened his eyes again to see a long silvery strand hanging from the end of Dumbledore’s wand. He recognised it as the same substance that the headmaster had once drawn out of his own head and deposited into the pensieve, but this time Dumbledore just shook his wand hard and the delicate strand shrivelled up and disappeared.

‘It will be most effective if we make two or three sweeps,’ Dumbledore told him, readying his wand again. ‘Each time, you’ll find it harder and harder to remember exactly what happened. When you can only recall the vaguest impression then it’s the time to stop.’

Harry submitted to extraction four more times in total, allowing the headmaster to pluck the memory straight from his head and destroy it over and over again before his very eyes.

‘How do you feel now? Dumbledore asked, once they were done.

‘Better,’ Harry replied, although he still felt a little numb and cold. ‘Not normal though, not like I did before.’

‘Well, repression will only take you so far,’ Dumbledore said sadly. ‘I think you might need something else to help you feel calm and content.’ 

‘What do you suggest?’ Harry asked, sure that Dumbledore had something in mind.

‘I’d like to put you into a trance and fill your mind with a pleasant vision,’ Dumbledore said, twirling his wand in his hands. ‘Something like a dream, but far more realistic and absorbing.’

Harry frowned. ‘I’m not sure about that. Would you be the one in control? I don’t want it turning into a nightmare.’

‘I would be entirely in control of the vision,‘ Dumbledore assured him. ‘Although you would still be able to speak and act as you please. I would merely create the location, as it were, and you would explore it.’

‘What sort of location?’

Dumbledore shrugged. ‘Something soothing like a sunny beach or a beautiful garden. You’re welcome to choose whatever you please.’

‘A beach then,’ Harry agreed.

‘You’re sure?’

Harry nodded. ‘Yes.’

Dumbledore told him to lie back in his chair and close his eyes. Fawkes moved from his lap to his shoulder and sang a little song, right in Harry’s ear, making him feel soft and sleepy. He hardly needed the spell that Dumbledore cast over him next to loosen his hold on the rest of his senses.

He drifted off easily, leaving his body behind in the warm, bright office.

**

When he opened his eyes again he found himself looking out across a sparkling blue ocean. It was the brightest sea that he had ever seen with only the faintest hint of foam bubbling up at its surface. The colour, in fact, reminded him strongly of Dumbledore’s eyes, and its beauty was rivalled only by the richer blue of the cloudless sky above.

The sand beneath his feet was soft and golden like well-refined brown sugar and stretched out as far as he could see. He curled his toes in it, feeling the warmth and texture against his bare soles, and let out a little sigh.

The beach was not empty. There were dozens of other people there, enjoying the sea and the sunshine. Young men and women lay back on towels, tanning themselves, and small children ran around with kites and balls. They all had a slightly pale, transparent look to them though, as if they were ghosts, and when Harry looked closely at one of their faces, he saw its features were all blurred.

‘People are difficult,’ Dumbledore murmured. ‘I can never paint them quite right in a vision like this. It’s best if you view them from a distance.’

Harry jumped and whirled around. Dumbledore was standing just behind him, dressed in a bright pink Hawaiian shirt, red shorts and flip-flops.

‘I thought that I ought to dress for the occasion,’ Dumbledore explained, moustache quivering. ‘Is this not what’s appropriate?’

‘Oh no,’ Harry said quickly. ‘That’s probably about right. I just didn’t expect it. I mean, it’s not necessary, is it? None of this is real.’

He gestured around at the perfect beach with its faint, phantom-like occupants.

Dumbledore cocked his head at Harry. ‘Does it feel real?’

Harry considered for a moment. The sun shining down on his back felt very warm and pleasant and the breeze blowing against his skin was light and cool. He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the ocean, all sweet and salty and full of flavour.

‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘It feels very real.’

‘Well then, you should enjoy it. Lose yourself in the illusion.’

Harry turned away again, casting his eyes over the crystal blue sea, and then slid down the sand. He sat there for a long time, enjoying the peace and the quiet of his surroundings.

Dumbledore sat beside him, watching him in silence.

‘It’s like being a child on holiday,’ Harry commented after a while. ‘Just sitting on the beach, playing with the sand.’

‘Did your aunt and uncle ever take you to the beach?’

‘No. They went to Portugal for a couple of weeks once but they didn’t take me. They left me with Mrs Figgs instead, this old lady who lived down our road. She always used to babysit me when they went away.’

Harry sighed and grabbed a couple of handfuls of sand, scraping them up into a little mountain.

‘I think I’d like to make a sandcastle.’ He said, turning to Dumbledore. ‘Can I?’

‘You can do anything you like,’ Dumbledore told him.

When Harry looked down again he found a bucket and spade waiting for him, along with a little pile of flags and seashells. When he grabbed for the bucket he found that something else had changed. His hands were suddenly very small and smooth and his body was light and delicate. He was a child again, no more than six or seven.

He felt a little thrill run through him and a sense of wonder that only intensified when he turned back to Dumbledore and found a small red-haired boy sitting there in his place. Harry knew it was still him, despite the smooth round cheeks and auburn curls, because the little boy had the same sapphire blue eyes with a twinkle in them.

‘I can fetch some water,’ Dumbledore suggested, his voice high and flutey. ‘Then we can build a moat, if you want.’

Harry let out a little laugh, surprising himself, not least because his voice was equally shrill and childlike.

’Yes.’

They played together quietly for the next couple of hours, building a huge sandcastle with lots of turrets and battlements. It was only once they were finally done, setting the last seashell window into place, that Harry realised that it was Hogwarts. Then he wondered how he could have gotten so far without realising it. He supposed it was something to do with the strange, dreamlike quality of this place. He had almost forgotten that there was a Hogwarts to go back to.

‘Do we have to go back soon?’ He asked.

‘In a little while,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘We’ve been away a long time now and you need to get to bed.’

‘Even though I’ve been asleep all this time?’

‘This is not a proper sleep, it’s an enchantment.’

Harry stretched out on his stomach, admiring their beautiful sandcastle and dipping his fingers in and out of the miniature moat.

‘We need a squid,’ he murmured.

‘Would you really like one?’ Dumbledore asked. ‘I can make one if you’re sure.’

‘No,’ Harry replied. ‘I’m just being silly.’

They lay there in silence for a while, neither of them said anything. The only sound was the gentle roll and hiss of the waves crashing on the shore.

‘It’s probably about time now,’ Dumbledore declared. ‘Are you ready?’

Harry sighed and nodded, holding out his hand. Dumbledore took it and then everything gently melted away around them.

**

Harry awoke in the headmaster’s office with an awful ache in his neck and and legs. He had fallen asleep in his chair with his head lolling at an awkward angle and now it was all twisted. He straightened up slowly, hearing his bones clicking as he did so, and squinted across at the desk at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looked almost as uncomfortable as he was and he was blinking very rapidly behind his half-moon glasses.

‘It’s always a little disorientating to come out of a trance,’ he murmured. ‘You have to adjust to reality very quickly, and reality is not an easy thing to adjust to.’

Harry nodded in agreement. He waited until Dumbledore had fully recovered before addressing him again.

‘Will we be able to do that again, next time?’ He asked.

‘If you found it useful.’

‘I did,’ Harry insisted. ‘It was like ... ‘ he shuffled his thoughts around. ‘It was as if I forget who I was, for a little while.’

‘I imagine that is very refreshing,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I did want you to be able to clear your head and start the week with a new perspective.’

‘Yes,‘ Harry said slowly. ‘Yes, I can see that.’ He licked at his lips. ‘Thank you, Professor.’

‘Your welcome, Harry.’

Just as Harry was heading out the door Dumbledore called after him.

‘Don’t forget, Harry - same time next week.’


	5. The Curse

Harry felt it at the tips of his fingers at first, little more than a tingling, and then it started to work it’s way deep into his bones. He recognised the feeling at once, horror sweeping through him, and clutched desperately at his wand.

_No, no, no! Not again!_

‘Barty!’ he heard someone scream and was even more alarmed when he realised the words had come from his own mouth, his voice strangely high-pitched and frantic. ‘Barty! Come at once! I need you!’

He knew he didn’t have long. He could already feel himself losing his grip on his wand and understood that it would soon slip from his fingers and clatter to the floor, leaving him completely defenceless.

‘BARTY!’ He screamed again, the odd name busting out of him once more, as if it was some sort of charm that could save him, even though nothing could help him now.

He could already feel his limbs seizing up and the blood thickening in his veins, his flesh growing hard and numb like the outer shell of a nut, enclosing him inside.

A fair young man appeared in the doorway just as his wand struck the stone. The blonde rushed across the room to retrieve it, sinking down to his knees before Harry’s chair, and tried to return it to its rightful place, but the hand that had held had gone limp against the armrest.

‘My Lord, what’s happening to you?’ He asked in a quavering voice.

No one answered, of course. Harry’s screams were trapped inside his head, his tongue unresponsive and his throat tightly locked. The only sound that escaped him was a strangled, uneven rasping that seemed quite inhuman. It was the sort of noise a dying, wounded animal would make as it drew its last breaths.

‘My Lord!’ The young man exclaimed again, his expression growing panicked.

He pulled out his own wand and brandished it intently, his aim quite steady despite the terror in his eyes. He quickly reeled off a long sequence of healing spells and counter-curses, none of which had any effect whatsoever.

The man started to whimper then, like a frightened child, fumbling at the at the hem of Harry’s robes.

‘Master, forgive me!’ He wailed. ‘I have failed you! I cannot undo this. I don’t even understand what this is. Please, please tell me what to do!’

In the bleak, terrible silence that followed the young man’s hardened, like marble. He rose unsteadily to his feet, pocketing the holly wand as he did so.

‘Wormtail!’ He bellowed, mouth wide and eyes popping. ‘Lucius! Come here!’

The sound of footsteps thundered through the house. As they grew closer and closer Harry’s urge to cry out grew more and more frantic.

_No! Don’t let them come in here! Don’t let them see me like this!_

His scar was burning worse than it had ever done before, pain searing through his flesh, and when the door was thrown open it seemed to split wide open, obliterating everything in a blinding white light.

**

Harry woke up gasping and shuddering, every inch of his body covered in sweat. Fawkes was sat on his shoulder, chirruping softly and nuzzling at his face with his beak.

Harry sat up and ran his hands frantically up and down his arms, relief flooding him as his body responded to his commands.

‘It’s okay,’ he told himself. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.’

Fawkes let out a ripple of song, as if to echo the sentiment, the sound helping, as always, to fortify Harry’s feelings.

None of it had been real. It had just been a nightmare, like so many before it - except, no - this one had been different. Harry recalled the sight of the pale, white hands dangling limply from black sleeves and the sound of high-pitched screams.

‘It was Voldemort,’ Harry whispered into the darkness. ‘I saw him. I _was_ him.’

The bird on his shoulder prodded hard at his cheek, his sharp little beak digging into his skin.

‘It can’t be real though,’ Harry muttered, still rubbing at his arms compulsively. ‘It just can’t.’

It didn’t make sense. He was the one who had been paralysed, not Voldemort. Surely he had just gotten things twisted in his mind, mingling the horrors of the graveyard with the monster who had inflicted them.

All the other details had been so real and clear though. The grand house with its fine furniture and the large, winged armchair. And then there was that young man with the sandy blonde hair who’d knelt obediently at Voldemort’s feet.

The phoenix let a short, sharp note, hid small black eyes fixed on Harry’s face.

Harry stared back. ‘I have to go to Dumbledore,’ he said dully.

The bird trilled again.

‘Right now?’

The Phoenix flapped it’s wings impatiently.

‘Okay, okay.’

Reluctantly Harry pushed his sheets away, noticing as he did that they were drenched in sweat. His pyjamas were sticking to his skin, sopping wet at the pits and groin.

‘I have to get dressed,’ he said shyly.

The phoenix chirped with understanding and turned his back on the boy.

Harry yanked his pyjama top up over his head and fumbled for his robes. He still felt dirty, even when he was dressed. He wished he knew the spell for shedding skin so he could strip away the top layer again. He didn’t even have time to wash. All he could do, to make himself feel less exposed, was throw his invisibility cloak on before hurrying out of the dormitory.

The headmaster’s office was empty, of course. No one was up at this time, not even Professor Dumbledore who often stayed up late into the night, poring over dusty old tomes or conversing with the portraits. Fawkes knew where to find him though. He fluttered over to one of the bookshelves and plucked at a slim volume of spells. Instantly the whole wall slid to one side, revealing a hidden passageway.

Harry watched anxiously as Fawkes flew up the spiral staircase, uncertain whether he was supposed to follow. He decided not and spent the next few minutes fidgeting with his cloak and scratching at his skin.

Fawkes reappeared a moment later with Dumbledore at his side. The old man was wearing a bright orange dressing gown and a tense, worried expression.

‘Harry?’

Harry pulled back his hood, exposing his face.

‘I had a dream about Lord Voldemort.’

Dumbledore nodded grimly.

‘Take a seat.’

Harry started to gravitate to his usual seat beside Dumbledore’s desk but Dumbledore stopped him.

‘No, let’s sit somewhere more comfortable.’ He gestured at the other end of the office, where two large, squashy armchairs had suddenly appeared.

Harry sunk down into the smaller of the two while Dumbledore settled himself into the other.

‘Well, tell me what you saw.’

Harry took a deep breath. ‘I think I was him. Voldemort, I mean. I saw his body and heard his voice.’

Dumbledore nodded again. ‘That’s happened before, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes, but this was different.’ Harry fidgeted with his hood, pulling it back up over his ears and making half his face vanish from sight. ‘I dreamt about being paralysed, like back in the graveyard. I was Voldemort but what was happening to him was what happened to me.’

He cast his eyes down to the carpet, feeling stupid. ’I think I just got mixed up,’ he said apologetically. ‘It couldn’t possibly have been a vision.’

Dumbledore reached out to touch his arm, his hand appearing to tremble in mid-air.

‘Tell me,’ he said softly. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

Harry looked up and saw that Dumbledore had the same intense, fiery look in his eyes as the night Harry had told him about the attack.

‘It... it can’t be real though,’ he protested. ‘Can it?’

Dumbledore leant in closer, the blue flames leaping.

‘Yes, Harry. It is real. Lord Voldemort has been entirely paralysed, just as you were.’

Harry stared up at him, heart racing in his chest. ‘How?’

‘Because I put a curse on him,’ Dumbledore said simply. ‘That’s why I needed you to watch for Voldemort in your dreams. I needed to know if the curse had worked.’

‘How?’ Harry exclaimed. ‘How could you do that?’

He had never heard of anyone casting a curse on someone from so far away and he couldn’t see how anyone, even someone as powerful as Dumbledore, could do it to Lord Voldemort.

Dumbledore considered for a moment and then waved his wand, making two mugs or hot chocolate appear on the table beside them.

‘Have a drink,’ he said softly. ‘It will make you feel better.’

Harry did as he was told, warming his hands up on the mug. The drink scalded at his mouth but was still sweet and pleasant.

Dumbledore only sipped at his drink for a moment, as if for show, and then set it down again.

‘When Voldemort performed his resurrection he used a very old, primal sort of magic, drawing on blood, flesh and bone. The bones of his father, the flesh of his servant and the blood of his enemy. Now, the enemy he chose was you, even though there were many simpler alternatives. He was blinded by his obsession, convinced that he needed your blood and your blood alone to be truly invincible. That was his first mistake. He strengthened the connection between the two of you, tying his life to yours.’

Harry grimaced, despite the sweet taste in his mouth. ‘I don’t want to be connected,’ he whispered.

‘No, of course not,’ Dumbledore said quickly, ‘and I’m sure Voldemort didn’t want that either. He was just too short-sighted to see the consequences of his actions.’

Dumbledore adjusted his half moon glasses atop his long, crooked nose and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

‘He made his second mistake by assaulting you. Once again, it was entirely unnecessary and incredibly risky, the act of a complete madman. He could have simply killed you, in a matter of seconds, as he has so many other people, but instead he chose to violate you, making himself vulnerable to attack and giving you an opportunity to escape.’

Harry shivered. ‘He wasn’t vulnerable,’ he said. ‘He wasn’t afraid or embarrassed and he was in control the entire time. I couldn’t fight him.’

‘No,’ Dumbledore agreed. ‘He was not vulnerable at the time, but once again his actions had consequences for him later. If he had not done what he did to you then I could not have cast the curse which has immobilised him.’

Harry frowned uneasily at the headmaster. ‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered.

Dumbledore gazed down at him sadly, the fire shifting in his eyes.

‘When he raped you Voldemort left traces of himself on you. Sweat, skin and semen. With these ingredients I was able to invoke the same kind of old, primal magic that Voldemort himself had employed. This time, not to create a new body, but to curse the one that had just been formed. You will have learnt enough by now to know that even a drop of blood or a strand of hair is enough to perform the most extraordinary dark magic. I had quite enough to work with.’

Harry felt a rush of bile surging up his throat and into his mouth, mingling with the hot chocolate.

‘You ... took that out of me?’ He demanded hoarsely.

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes growing even sadder.

‘Yes. I am very sorry, Harry. I did not know how to explain to you what I needed and I could not say why, without knowing whether it would work. I appreciate how disgusting it must all sound.’

Harry was afraid of what emotions might be showing on his face and so pulled his cloak up all the way, rendering himself entirely invisible.

‘I thought you were just cleaning me up,’ he said weakly. ‘I didn’t think you’d be really looking at anything.’

He was thinking of all the blood and the shit, overwhelmed with shame and disgust at the idea of the old man flushing it out of him and inspecting it all.

‘I know,’ Dumbledore said, apologetically. ‘I didn’t want to look at you like that any more than was necessary. You know I used magic to clean you out. The most efficient spells I could think of.’

Harry was worried he was going to start crying and was sure that Dumbledore would be able to tell if he did, even though he couldn’t see his face. He swallowed deeply several times and tried to control his breathing.

‘What I have done,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘should be permanent. If the curse has worked as intended, which I am sure it has, then Lord Voldemort will spend the rest of his life trapped inside his own body. He is defeated, once and for all.’

He let this statement stand for a moment in a stretch of utter silence.

’However we will still need to take Lord Voldemort into custody and lock him up securely. If he were to be killed then his soul would be set free once again. It is for this reason that I must ask you to recount your dream to me in as much detail as possible so that we have a better idea of where Voldemort is and who is with him.’

Harry tried to recover himself as quickly he could, still reeling from what Dumbledore had told him. 

‘I - I don’t know where Voldemort is exactly,’ he confessed. ‘I didn’t see much, just a darkened room in a big house. I think the furniture was all quite old and expensive and there was a fancy fireplace but that could have been anywhere.’

‘I have a good idea of where Voldemort has been hiding,’ Dumbledore told him. ‘It is helpful to hear what you are saying though. It makes it easier to confirm. Can you tell me who was there with Voldemort?’

Harry swallowed again and closed his eyes, recalling the handsome young man with sandy blonde hair.

‘Someone called ... Barty. Voldemort called for him when he felt himself losing control of his body. I think it was Barty Crouch Junior although he’s supposed to be dead, isn’t he?’

‘I have had my suspicions that his death was faked for a while now,’ Dumbledore replied calmly. ‘It is no shock to me to hear that he is with Lord Voldemort now. Please, continue. Who else is with them?’

‘There was also Mr Malfoy,’ Harry said slowly, struggling to remember, ‘and Peter Pettigrew. I heard Crouch calling for them both when Voldemort stopped moving.’

‘That’s very good.’ Dumbledore murmured. ‘Very good, indeed, Harry. Thank you.’

He got up out of his seat and strode across the room. With a flick of his wand he lit the fire and then grabbed for a fistful of bright, sparkling powder.

‘I’m going to call Professor Snape here,’ he told Harry. ‘I need to ask for his help tonight. If we are lucky we may be able to catch a great of Voldemort’s followers and put them out of action.’

He glanced back at Harry - or, more precisely, at the area where Harry was seated.

‘If you wish to stay invisible, please feel free. Professor Snape needn’t know you’re here at all.’

Harry nodded gratefully, before realising that Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to see that and feeling very foolish.

‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I’d rather stay hidden.’

‘Then drink up your Hot Chocolate, if you still want it.’

Harry forced down another mouthful and then set the mug back down on the table. It vanished instantly, along with Dumbledore’s, which had hardly been touched at all.

Dumbledore threw the powder on the fire and called out, ‘Severus, please come at once.’

Harry had seen this trick performed before, with Professor Lupin, and so was not surprised when Professor Snape emerged a few minutes later, brushing the soot from his shoulders.

‘What is it?’ He asked, wild-eyed. ‘Is there news? Is it time?’

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore confirmed. ‘I’ve been informed that Lord Voldemort has fallen to the curse and his followers are in a panic. I believe they are at Malfoy Manor but we should move quickly in case they try to run. Could you contact the other members of the order and then go on ahead?’

Snape looked paler than Harry had ever seen him, practically translucent, and his eyes were rolling wildly in his skull.

‘You’re sure?’ He demanded frantically. ‘You’re sure he’s been struck down?’

‘I am quite sure,’ Dumbledore replied calmly. ‘I believe he began to feel the effects a little over an hour ago. I do not think his death eaters will have had time to do anything other than hide him away and argue amongst themselves. Still we must be very careful, Severus. Make sure you tell the others what is needed. I will be along in a moment once I have wrapped up things here.’

Snape jerked his head obediently and then turned on his heel, heading straight back through the fire. Dumbledore waited for just a second before turning back around.

‘Fawkes,’ he said softly. ‘Will you take care of Harry, while I’m gone?’

The bird rose up from where it had been perching, on the back of Dumbledore’s chair, and fluttered back to Harry’s side.

‘Will you be alright going back to dormitories?’ Dumbledore asked Harry. ‘I want you to try and get some rest, if you can. I should be back before morning.’

Harry felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of being left at Hogwarts alone while Dumbledore was off duelling death eaters.

‘Will you be alright?’ He asked, his voice breaking with fear.

Dumbledore smiled weakly. ‘I’ll be quite alright, I assure you. I’ve lived far too long to die now.’

Harry believed in him, more than he had ever believed in anything else, but he still felt an uneasy squirming in the pit of his stomach like he’d swallowed a live eel.

‘Please, be careful!’ He cried out before throwing his arms around Dumbledore’s waist. The old man bent down to return the embrace, fingers combing through his hair.

‘Don’t worry,’ He murmured. ‘I’ll be back before you know it and once this night is over everything will be better.’

**

Dumbledore was as good as his word. When Harry woke, a few hours later, he was already there beside him, stroking his hair.

Harry was still wearing his invisibility cloak but Dumbledore must have found him from the bump he made in the sheets and slid the hood down to expose his face.

Harry kept his eyes shut and pretended he was still asleep because he didn’t want the touching to stop. It was so rare that he felt something so pure and gentle, almost like a mother’s caress.

‘Harry?’ Dumbledore murmured eventually. ‘Harry? Can you hear me?’

At this point, Harry could no longer maintain the illusion. He opened his eyes slowly, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious that he had been faking.

‘Did you get him?’ He asked, his voice still hoarse and croaky.

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore confirmed.

‘And was anyone hurt?’

‘No, no one. It was all very clean. Unfortunately several of the death eaters disapparated when we arrived so we weren’t able to apprehend them all. Moody got quite a few though, including Barty Crouch Junior, which I’m truly grateful for. He was the only one I was really worried about.‘

‘What will you do with them?’

There was the glimmer of fire in Dumbledore’s eyes again. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said softly. ‘I will take care of them, remember. All of them. I promise.’

His hand moved back to Harry’s hair, stroking in a smooth, repetitive motion.

’What about Voldemort? What will you do with him?’

‘I will hand him over to ministry eventually,’ Dumbledore replied, ‘but not until I’m satisfied that they fully understand the situation. As I explained last night, If Lord Voldemort is killed then his soul will be set free. Therefore Lord Voldemort cannot be executed and must instead be securely imprisoned for the rest of his life.’

Harry shivered a little. ‘What if they don’t agree to that? Everyone wants Voldemort dead and they might not listen to reason.’

‘I will make sure that they promise not to have Voldemort executed before releasing him into their care.’

‘What if they break their promise? What if they lie?’

‘There are ways of magically ensuring that people keep their promises.’

Harry relaxed. Dumbledore really had thought of everything.

‘Won’t we ever be able to kill Voldemort for good?’ He asked.

Dumbledore looked uncomfortable. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t think so. Lord Voldemort performed some very dark and complicated magic in his quest to become immortal. To put it simply, I believe he split his soul into several pieces and hid them in various objects and artefacts. Unless all the spare parts of his soul are destroyed then he can never be killed.’

‘Can’t we try and find the pieces of his soul?’ Harry asked.

‘I will try,’ Dumbledore said delicately, ‘but there is one piece I know cannot be destroyed.’

‘Why not?’

Dumbledore gazed down at Harry sadly. ‘Do you really need Voldemort dead to feel safe? Is there no other way?’

Harry faltered a little. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I just need to know that he’s really gone. That he can’t come back again, like he’s always done before.’

‘I want that for you too,’ Dumbledore insisted, ‘and I swear I will do everything in my power to prove that to you. I don’t want you to live with any doubts.’ 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, trying to force back the tears that were once again threatening to spill over. He felt like he had cried more these last few weeks than at any other point in his entire life.

‘I’m so grateful to you,’ he whispered, his voice breaking a little. ‘I see what you have done for me. I know how huge it is.’

He felt Dumbledore’s hand move to his face, fingers cupping at his chin.

‘Nothing I’ve done would have been possible without you, Harry. I want you to know how proud I am of you. You’ve been so strong and brave.’

The tears did come then, trickling out and sticking to his lashes.

‘I haven’t done anything,’ he muttered. ‘I failed you. I couldn’t fight at all.’

‘That’s not true,’ Dumbledore insisted. ‘It took you a lot of courage to get up again and escape from Lord Voldemort that night in the graveyard. And it took a lot of courage to tell me what had happened to you and what you dreamt about him. If you had not done any of this, Lord Voldemort would still be free.’

He brushed the tears away from Harry’s cheeks, and rubbed at the skin with the pad of his thumb.

‘There’s often nothing more difficult or more important than simply continuing on and refusing to give in. Nothing harder than standing up for what is right and what is good, even when it costs you dearly. Your parents understood that and I know they would be very proud of you too.’

Dumbledore tilted Harry head upwards and tried to coax him to open his eyes. Harry succumbed to his wishes although it hurt him to look the headmaster in the eyes.

‘Can you believe this, Harry?’ Dumbledore asked. ‘Do you feel like what I’m telling you is the truth?’

‘I’m trying,’ Harry said honestly, ‘but it’s very hard for me right now. I’ve never felt less like a hero.’

‘I understand.’

Dumbledore fumbled about under the sheets, searching for Harry’s hands. Harry hastily shook them out of their sleeves and offered them up, letting the old man squeeze them.

‘I think I ought to tell you everything, Harry, now that the worst is over. I want you to understand the situation entirely. There is one thing that I have kept from you for a very long time and I am afraid it is quite terrible. I want you to try and prepare yourself.’

Harry’s heart sank. He wanted to say that he didn’t think he could bear anything more, than he’d already been through far too much, but he couldn’t say that to Dumbledore now, not after his little speech about bravery.

‘Okay,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me.’

‘I believe that one of the pieces of Lord Voldemort’s soul is lodged inside of you. Therefore, as long as you’re alive, Lord Voldemort cannot be killed.’

Harry drew back, a shiver running through the length of his body. ‘No,‘ he croaked. ‘No, you’re wrong. That’s not possible!’ But even as he said it, he knew it was true. All those strange similarities between himself and Voldemort. His ability to speak parseltongue and to see into his mind.

He felt like he was going to be sick. 

’You can remove it though, can’t you?’ He gabbled desperately. ‘You must be able to. Please! I don’t care what it costs, however much it hurts!’

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

‘I’m so sorry Harry, but there’s no way to remove it without killing you. You mustn’t be afraid of it though, it can’t hurt you in any way. You’ve always had it inside you and it’s never made the slightest bit of difference. There isn’t a shred of Voldemort within your own soul. You’re entirely yourself; your mother and your father’s son.

Harry didn’t believe him. ‘I ought to die,’ he groaned. ‘You ought to kill me.’

‘You will die one day,’ Dumbledore said calmly. ‘When you are very old and have lived a long and happy life. And at that time Voldemort may also be granted the gift of death, but not a moment sooner.’

Fawkes was nestled in Harry’s lap and looking up at him with his liquid black eyes full of love. It ought to have reassured Harry but his thoughts were just too troubled. His head was beginning to ache with an old, familiar pain.

‘You won’t tell anyone else will you?’ He whimpered. ‘The ministry or whatever. I’m sure you’ve got to tell them something to explain why Voldemort can’t be executed but I really don’t want anyone to know.’

‘No, Harry. No one else needs to know unless you choose to tell them.’

He touched Harry’s cheek softly, traced the tracks of his tears.

‘It’s all over now, I promise you. Voldemort is gone forever and no one else has to die.’

Harry tried to accept this as truth, to let the knowledge wash over him and clear away all the shame and fear, but there was just too much damage and debris. It would be some time before he could truly feel safe.


	6. The Cage

The Prophet was filled with triumphant proclamations, the first few pages taken up by momentous headlines in inch-high letters. There were lots of pictures too, of the captured death eaters and the properties that had been searched, but none of Lord Voldemort himself.

That made sense, given that they wouldn’t even refer to him directly. It was like he was a demon or some terrible pagan God. No one dared speak his name or show his face. It was a form of idolatry that might just invoke him; utterly taboo.

Harry flipped through the paper at the breakfast table, gripping the pages so tight that the ink wore off on his fingertips, staining them black. His ears were aching from the roars of his fellow Gryffindors as everyone else was talking and laughing loudly.

The news had not broken until the start of term and the first few days of teaching had been completely suspended, given over to banquets and celebrations. Everyone was affected by the festive atmosphere, telling raucous jokes and singing crude songs. Only the slytherin table was strangely subdued with several seats left empty. Draco Malfoy and his closest friends, Crabbe and Goyle, had not returned at all. No one seemed sure whether they were ever coming back to Hogwarts. There were rumours that they were going abroad to Durmstrang, or else would soon be joining their fathers in Azkaban.

Harry hoped that this wasn't true. He had never liked Malfoy or his friends but he knew they didn't deserve to be punished like that. It was bad enough that their families had been torn apart. In some ways Harry thought that it was worse to have a father locked up was than no father at all. You couldn't even grieve properly because of the shame and uncertainty.

Dumbledore had promised Harry that their lives would be spared but Harry wasn't sure whether that meant ongoing protection. It might be outside his power to interfere in the wizard prison and no one lasted long in Azkaban.

Harry was probably the only Gryffinfor who wasn't celebrating. He forced a smile whenever required, and said all the right things but his heart just wasn't in it.

'I think I'll feel happier later,' He told his friends in a whisper. 'Once all this dies down and things start to feel normal again.'

He was looking forward to resuming his lessons, doing homework and flying at quidditch practice. He craved the familiar and routine, set activities at set times where he always knew what was expected of him. He baulked at the chaos of the the feasts and parties, where anyone might say anything and do anything and nothing could be predicted.

The teachers had all entered into the festive mood and were allowing the students to run amuck, looking the other way when the likes of the Weasley twins created a spectacular indoor fireworks display. They had also relaxed their usual modes of dress, donning bright fabrics and outlandish accessories. Professor Dumbledore was the most flamboyantly dressed though, in his periwinkle robes and magenta hat, although his smile was somewhat subdued, at least, compared with those of his colleagues.

He slapped on a jolly expression when he approached the Gryffinfor table though his eyes trained on Harry.

'It probably doesn't quite feel real yet,' he whispered to him. 'It will take some time to sink in.'

Harry nodded mutely, hoping that no one else was listening in on their conversation.

Noticing the ink on Harry's hands, Dumbledore cast a spell over them to clean them again. He was always doing that these days, tending to Harry whenever he saw the opportunity. No matter how small or insignificant the gesture Harry was always grateful because he knew the affection that lay behind it.

Dumbledore was still the only person that Harry let touch him. He was able to appreciate the intimacy of skin to skin contact, to enjoy it even, although he would have scorned it from anyone else.

'Can you come see me later?' Dumbledore asked softly. 'There's something else I think we ought to discuss and it can't wait until Monday.'

Harry nodded again and Dumbledore returned to the teacher's table.

'What was that about?' Ron asked, elbowing his friend in the ribs.

'Nothing,' Harry replied, edging away from him. 'He just wants to check up on me. Leave it alone, will you?'

There was a time when he shared everything with Ron, wrestled with him in the corridors and cuddled up close to him the common room. Now he had dark and terrible secrets avoided even brushing up against Ron's robes when they walked side by side.

Ron didn't make a big deal about it. Just shrugged and backed off as Harry had asked him to. His thoughtfulness and consideration made Harry feel even more guilty.

'I'll let you know if he says anything interesting,' Harry relented. 'Anything about the arrest, I mean. It's all in the papers though.'

Ron seemed satisfied, but Harry immediately regretted making such a rash offer. If Dumbledore did tell him anything Harry would not want to share it. It would be for his ears only.

Another secret. Another little maggot burrowing it's way into his soul. He was slowly become infested with these disgusting little parasites. Even so, he couldn't flush them out until they'd worked their way through his system and eaten away at all the cold, dead flesh.

**

Albus Dumbledore had re-arranged his entire office so that there was more places for Harry to sit or lie down if he needed to.

Harry had suggested the therapist's couch as a joke, never dreaming that Dumbledore would take him seriously. The plush chez long was incredibly comfortable though and somehow managed to fit in well with all the tinkling golden instruments and humming ornaments.

Fawkes sat on a perch just behind the coach and watched fondly over Harry whenever he was there. He sang softly as Harry entered into his trances and was always curled up in his lap when he woke up.

'What is it you wanted to talk to me about?' Harry asked, choosing to sit rather than recline in his usual place.

Dumbledore sat down beside him so he could wrap an arm around his shoulders. There was plenty of room for the both of them on the chez long, a feature that could not have been accidental.

'You'll recall that I said I wouldn't release Lord Voldemort's body to the Ministry until I received assurances that they wouldn’t attempt to execute him.'

Harry nodded.

'Well, that time has now come and we have begun to make the arrangements to transfer him to Azkaban. There are still many details which still need to be negotiated and I wanted to being you into the discussion. I think you have the right to make the final decision.'

'You don't want me to go talk to anyone at the Ministry, do you?' Harry asked nervously.

'No, Harry,' Dumbledore replied. 'I can talk through the options with you and you need only tell me what you would prefer. I will do the rest.'

'What if I can't decide?' Harry asked. 'What if I don't know what I want?'

'Then I can make the decision for you or I can delay matter until you are able to decide. I don't want you to feel rushed. I want you to feel in control.'

Harry understood, of course. He lay back against the couch, sinking into its velvet cushions.

'There's something else,' Dumbledore said delicately. 'Once I hand Voldemort over to the Ministry it will be very difficult to gain access to him. I think they will want to lock him up somewhere secure and won't let anyone in to see him alone. So I have to ask you now, Harry, if you want to visit him before then. If you want to see him one last time.'

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. 'Why would I want to do that?' He glared up at Dumbledore. 'You promised I would never have to face him again.'

'And you don't, Harry, not if you don't want to,' Dumbledore insisted. 'I just want you to have to chance to confront him if you wish. I think it might be good for you to see what condition he's in and how he's been kept. It might help you to feel safe.'

Harry could see where the headmaster was coming from but the very thought of being in the same building as Voldemort made him want to throw up.

'If you don't want him to see you or know that you’re there then that can be easily arranged,' Dumbledore continued. 'You can wear your father's cloak and look at him from a distance. I think that that alone would do you the world of good.'

Harry ran his nails up and down the seat cushion, scoring deep lines in the velvet.

'Would you promise to go in with me and never leave me alone, not even for a second?'

Dumbledore's arm tightened around him. 'Not even for a second,' he promised. 'If you like, I can make myself invisible too and Lord Voldemort need never know that either of us were there.'

'And ... he can't hurt me?' He whispered, fumbling for the old man’s hand. 'You're ... You're absolutely sure he can't do ... anything to me.'

Dumbledore squeezed his fingers. 'I swear, he can't hurt you, Harry. He can't even blink in your direction.'

Harry took a deep breath. Fear was still coursing through his body, racing through his veins, but he trusted Dumbledore more than he feared Voldemort.

'Okay,' he whispered. 'Okay, l'll go see him. If you think that will help.'

**

The building looked like an abandoned factory and the inside was all stainless steel, from the floor to the walls to the ceiling. Sheets ten inches thick with no cracks or gaps whatsoever. It reminded Harry of a slaughterhouse except it was too new and clean. There were no grates or sluices, no conveyor belts or killing machines, just the smooth endlessness of steel corridors and steel doors.

Harry and Dumbledore walked through hand in hand, silent and invisible. Everytime they passed through a new door Harry braced himself, thinking that Lord Voldemort might be on the other side of it, but he never was. The prison was a labyrinth, laced with magic, and there was more than metal locks keeping the prisoner within.

Dumbledore apparently knew all the tricks and codes, opening every door with ease and, at one point, even walking through an apparently solid wall. Thirty minutes passed before Dumbledore stopped in front of another wall and turned to address his companion.

'This is the last doorway,' he told Harry. 'The last ward that needs to be undone. Once I open it you will be able to see Lord Voldemort in his cell. Are you ready for that?'

Harry trembled, glad that the headmaster could not see his face.

'Yes,' he whispered.

Dumbledore raised his wand and traced a magical symbol in the air. The wall began to melt away revealing a small grey cell.

Inside a thin pale man was slumped on the floor. His face was partially turned away so that only the side was visible but Harry could still make out the flat pinpricks of his nose, the thin line of his mouth and the hollow sockets of his eyes. His skin was far whiter and thinner than it had been and his extremities very red. It made it look like all his holes had all been carved out of a solid lump of flesh, like the world's most grotesque jack-o'-lantern.

Thick shackles encircled his bony wrists and ankles, the heavy chains bolted directly into the floor. 

'Why's he all chained up?' Harry asked in alarm. 'You said he couldn't move. Not at all. Not ever.'

‘The chains are for us, not for him,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘They help to reassure the guards and visitors that no matter what happens he cannot break free. I promise you, they are not needed. They are a failsafe for a disaster that can never take place.'

Harry breathed deeply, trying to recover himself. He couldn't shake the feeling that the man crumpled on the floor might recover at any moment. No amount of chains could ever reassure him. His fears were too deep-seated.

'His eyes are closed,' he whispered. 'Is he ... Is he asleep?'

'Hard to tell,' Dumbledore whispered back. 'I don't think so. I don't know if he ever sleeps. One of the guards will have closed his eyes. That way they won't dry out and crust over. No one wants to clean him up any more than they have to.'

Harry continued to stare at the man’s pale face, too scared to look away.

‘You’re ... you’re really sure he can’t get free?’

'He has no wand,' Dumbledore pointed out, 'and his body is weak. Even if he were able to move and the chains were not holding him down I doubt he would have the strength to stand.'

'He’ll never stop trying, though,’ Harry blurted out desperately. ‘He’s been nothing but mist and vapour before and he's still kept going. He'll never stop going!'

Dumbledore leant in close, his breath ghosting against Harry’s cheek.

'Look at him closely, Harry. He's just a man and no man is invincible. No man can defy the laws of nature.'

A pause.

'Of course he'll keep going, Harry. He’ll keep going like this, forever. That’s what he's done to himself. Life, at any cost.'

Harry took a deep breath.

'What do the Minsitry what to do to him? Chain him up in Azkaban just like this?'

It seemed like the most sensible solution. What more could be done, after all?

'Yes,' Dumbledore confirmed, 'but I am afraid that they may want to torture him first. They want to root out his remaining followers and find the missing people they suspect that he has killed.'

A fresh wave of fear swept over Harry as he realised what this meant.

'But - but he can't talk, can he?'

'They will try reading his mind with magic. If Voldemort Wishes to communicate then he can.’

Harry started trembling again. 'But you won't let them, will you?'

Dumbledore was silent for a short while. 'I can try and stop them,' he said eventually, 'but there's something else I would like to suggest.'

He took out his wand and flexed it between his fingers.

'I could perform a very powerful memory charm upon Lord Voldemort, wiping away all memory of what happened that night in the Graveyard.'

His pale blue eyes met Harry's bright green ones.

'Would that make you feel better?'

Harry considered.

'Are you sure a memory charm would hold?' He asked. 'Memories can be recovered, can't they?"

'Yes,' Dumbledore replied, 'but I am a very powerful Wizard. I don't believe anyone else alive would be able to undo my spell. Certainly no one at the Ministry.’

'Could you ... could you erase all his memories? Make him a blank slate?'

Dumedore seemed surprised by this suggestion. 'You would prefer that?'

Harry chewed his lip, thinking of his old teacher, Professor Lockhart, whose identity was utterly obliterated in a single flash of light.

'I don't like the idea of him sitting there thinking,' He explained. 'Remembering and imagining things. Trying to work out a way to escape. I don't like the idea of him going on and on like that forever. Do ... do you think it’s cruel or merciful to wipe his memory?'

'I don't know,' Dumbledore replied. 'I think Lord Voldemort might think it was cruel. There's nothing he fears more than oblivion.'

He stroked the back of Harry's knuckles. 'I will do it, if you want me to. If it makes you feel safer.'

'Yes,’ Harry said decisively. ‘That’s what I want.’

Dumbledore raised his wand.

'You understand that once I cast the spell Voldemort will be utterly gone. You won't ever be able to confont him about what he did to you. Are you sure you don't want to speak to him first?’

Harry flinched. 'I ... how ....?'

'I can try and read his mind. If he wants to answer you then I will be able to pass on what he says. If he chooses to block me out though, which is quite likely, then you will never know what you what he thinks. You will have to live with that.'

Harry shivered once more, his eyes on the man's awful mask-like face. He wasn't sure if he had enough courage to do what Dumbledore suggested.

'Would you come in with me?'

'Yes. I won't leave you alone with him.’

Harry breathed in deep again.

'Okay’

Dumbledore kept a tight hold on Harry's hand as they walked into the cell. Once they reached Lord Voldemort Dumbledore bent down and peeled back his eyelids.

'Hello Tom,' he said calmly. 'I've come here today to finish the preparations for your transfer and I've brought someone here who wishes to speak to you before you go. It would be wise for you to answer any questions he has. This will be your very last chance.'

Voldemort's eyes were glassy. Harry couldn't read any expression in them at all.

'Can he really hear us?' He whispered.

'Yes, he can hear you,' Dumbledore whispered back, ‘and understand you too. Go on, talk to him.’

Harry hesitated and then drew back his hood, exposing his face at last.

‘Hello ... Tom ...’ he mumbled, trying to imitate the headmaster’s breezy tone. ‘I don’t really know what I want to say to you but I guess I do have a lot of questions. Questions about ... about what you’ve done. I don't know if you’ll be able to answer them but I thought I’d give you the chance.’ 

He swallowed and glanced back at Dumbledore. 'Is he ...saying anything?'

The headmaster's face screwed up in concentration, eyes narrowing.

'Nothing,' he said softly. 'He has nothing he wants to say.'

Harry turned back to Voldemort, heart pounding.

'I don't understand how you could ...why you would want to ... do what you did to me. I know you wanted to destroy me, wanted to humiliate me, but that can’t be the only reason. You must have wanted it, must have enjoyed it, but why? Was it because I was so helpless? Is that something that actually ... gets you off? Didn't it bother you that everyone was watching? Or ... or did you enjoy that too? Why did you make me enjoy it? Was that just ... humiliation or ... or what?!’

He stopped to catch his breath, his face burning with shame.

'What's he saying?' He asked Dumbledore. 'What's he thinking?'

There was a very painful pause.

'Nothing,' Dumbledore said again. 'I'm sorry, he's still blocking me. He has nothing he wants to say.'

Harry felt despair wash over him.

'I didn't really expect you to be able to answer me properly,' he murmured. 'I know you're not sorry. I know you don't care.'

He didn't look back again. He didn’t want to see the pity on Dumbledore’s face.

'I've asked Dumbledore to wipe your memory for me so you won't be able to tell anyone what you did, but he's not just going to erase that one night. He's going to wipe your entire mind clean. You won't remember anything you've done in your entire life. You won’t even remember your own name, real or fake. Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort will be gone forever.’

His voice shook with emotion.

'I don't know whether this scares you. I imagine it does, but you should know I'm not doing this to hurt you. I just want you to be as close to dead as you can be. I want to make sure that you can never hurt anyone else ever again.’

Suddenly Dumbledore gasped and grabbed at Harry’s arm, making him jump.

'What is it?' Harry squeaked. 'What's he saying?!’

Dumbledore grimaced. 'He’s saying, "How could you do this to me?"'

Harry felt rage sweep through him, as savage as a storm.

'How could I do this to him?!' He barked. 'How could I do this to him?! How could he murder my parents?! How could he murder Cedric Diggory?! How could he RAPE me?!'

Dumbledore’s face was contorted with pain. ‘You misunderstand the emphasis,’ he murmured. ‘How could _you_ do this to _him_ when he is so great and powerful.’ His voice was thick with disgust. ‘I am afraid he is unable to believe it.’

Harry gazed into Voldemort’s pale, lifeless face and felt his resolve harden.

'Do it.’


	7. Retribution

Harry felt very empty after his confrontation with Voldemort, as if he were the one who’d had his head hollowed out by magic. He lay down limply on the coach, surprised that his body didn’t just sink right through the velvet and padding.

Dumbledore regarded him with concern, along with Fawkes the Phoenix. Two pairs of sad, bright eyes gazing down at him with love and apprehension.

‘Can I get you anything to eat or drink?’ He offered. ‘Something to calm your nerves?’

He didn’t wait for Harry to respond before summoning a warm drink and a small tray of food. Harry obediently took up his goblet and sipped at its contents, hardly tasting it at all, and picked at the little cheeses and crackers with even less interest. He might as well have been eating cardboard and choking down water.

Dumbledore waited until his plate was completely clean before vanishing everything away and kneeling down before him.

‘There is one more thing I wanted to discuss with you today.’

Harry groaned. ‘Can’t it wait? I’m so tired.’

‘This is the last thing, I promise.’

Dumbledore waved his wand again and a slightly crumpled sheet of parchment appeared on the table. Harry’s heart stopped when recognised his own handwriting; a neat, black column of text. It was the list of death-eaters that had been present at Voldemort’s resurrection, just as Harry had written them, except that now each and every one had been crossed out. 

‘What does this mean?’

‘They’re all dead now,’ Dumbledore told him, ‘except for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.’

He indicated the names with a flick of his long, white fingers.

‘They are still alive, but I have obliterated their memories so they no longer remember what they saw in the graveyard.‘

Harry gazed at him.

‘You did that ... for me?’

‘It’s what you wanted.’

‘How?’

Dumbledore shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter how. The important thing is, it’s done. You don’t have to worry about them any more.’ 

He reached out to touch Harry’s face, caressing his cheek with his fingertips.

‘If you want ... I could erase your memory too ... and mine. If I did that, there would be no one left alive who remembers what happened. It would be like the assault never took place at all.’

Harry blinked. ‘I thought you said you couldn’t do that.’

‘No, I said that I wouldn’t recommend it,’ Dumbledore clarified. ‘Not at first, anyway. It’s an option now if you want it.’

Harry thought about it.

‘Would it feel like it had never happened or would there be some part of me that still knew? Would I feel strange and not know why?’

Dumbledore hummed softly.

‘It’s hard to say. Memory charms are often incredibly effective but they always leave a gap where the memory used to be. You may be able to tell that something’s missing, that there’s something wrong.’

Harry shivered. ‘And I’d have to forget about all the rest of it too? What happened today, with Voldemort, and in all our meetings too?’

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore agreed. ‘If you wanted to erase the incident entirely you’d have to get rid of every memory related to it.’

Harry thought back over all his conversations with the headmaster. As unpleasant as some had been, he didn’t want to forget them. He certainly didn’t want to forget about all his trances. They were good, precious memories, even if they weren’t strictly speaking real.

‘I’m not sure I want that.’ He told Dumbledore. ‘I need to know what happened.’

Dumbledore twirled his wand in his hands.

‘I could always erase your memory and then tell you what happened,’ he suggested. ‘That way you’d still have the knowledge, but not the experience. It might not be quite so painful. Like when I extracted your memories and pushed them to the back of your mind.’

Harry imagined what it would be like to know he’d been raped but not be able to remember it. One the one hand, it would be a relief not to have all those images in his head. On the other, it would probably still eat away at him, perhaps all the more because he couldn’t be sure exactly what happened.

It would drive him mad.

‘I think I need the memories,’ he said. ‘I need to remember what happened to me, even though it’s awful.’

Dumbledore waited for a moment or two, then nodded and pocketed his wand.

‘Do you think I’m being stupid?’ Harry asked. ‘I mean, it must seem crazy, to want to remember.’

‘No, no - not at all,’ Dumbledore said quickly. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re making the right decision. It is your decision, though, and I would support you whatever you chose.’

A moment of silence.

‘If you changed your mind later I could always still obliviate you. You would only have to ask.’

‘I know,’ Harry said. ‘I won’t change my mind.’

Dumbledore straightened up and then slid into the seat beside him.

‘I think all experiences are important, even very bad ones. No matter how much they hurt us we can’t let go of them.’

He looked away uncomfortably, shadows filling out the hollows under his eyes.

‘I have some memories from my past which still haunt me. Things I ... regret deeply. But, even though the guilt and the the grief weigh me down, even now, years later, I could never let anyone wipe it all away. Because it was real and it matters.’

There was another barren stretch of silence.

‘Can I ask ..?’ Harry began tentatively.

‘My sister died,’ Dumbledore confided. ‘In a duel. It was my fault, I was the one fighting. She just got caught in the crossfire.’

Harry let the weight of this revelation sink into the recesses of his mind.

‘I know it is not the same thing,’ Dumbledore continued hastily. ‘The events that trouble me were entirely my fault. I’m obligated to carry that guilt around with me. You’re not responsible for your pain.’

Harry didn’t know what to say to this so he kept his mouth shut.

Dumbledore linked his fingers together in the seat of his lap, twiddling his thumbs restlessly.

‘My sister always had problems controlling her magic, ever since she was a little. When she was around six years old she was attacked by a gang of muggle boys. They did ... terrible things to her. Things that changed her forever, made her close up and retreat in on herself. After that ... she could never do magic again, except when she lost control of her emotions and it all came bursting out of her.’

Harry swallowed, tasting bile on the back of his tongue.

‘Did they - do you mean - ?’

‘I never knew exactly,’ Dumbledore said firmly. ‘I was just a child myself and no one would talk about it, but I remember her coming home bruised and bleeding, and refusing to let my mother put her in the bath to clean her up.’

Harry swallowed again and reached out to take Dumbledore’s hand. Dumbledore held tight, forcing a smile that did not reach his eyes.

‘My father went after the boys and attacked them, quite brutally I believe. They put in Azkaban for it and he ended up dying there a few years later. He never admitted why he did it. He didn’t want anyone to know what had happened to Ariana or see how ill she was, as a result.’

Dumbledore’s eyes had grown a little misty, behind his half-moon spectacles, but his voice was still calm and steady.

‘I used to resent my father for that. In my mind, he had abandoned us. Given up everything in a fit of rage. I could never understand how he could do something so violent and reckless.’

He brought up his free hand, brushed a lock of Harry’s hair back behind his ear.

‘That is of course ... until you told me what Voldemort had done to you.’

He smiled his sad, face empty smile once more.

‘I suppose I am my father’s son, after all.’

Harry stared at him in silence for a few seconds and then reached out to him. Dumbledore folded him up in his arms, without a moment’s hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, hugging him tight, and Harry felt nothing but joy.


	8. Confessions

After Dumbledore returned it to him, Harry started putting the list of death-eaters under his pillow at night, so that whenever he woke from a nightmare he could reach out and touch the cool paper and know that he was safe. 

He had enchanted the parchment so that it wouldn’t get dirty or creased and during the days he folded it up neatly and put it in his breast pocket, inside his robes. It was something like a treasure and something like a talisman which he liked to keep close to his heart. 

He was still visiting Dumbledore at least once a week, and sometimes more, for therapy, but now there was one major difference. Harry had started to talk - really talk - about what he was going through, instead of just escaping into pleasant fantasies. 

‘I can’t let anyone touch me anymore,’ he confessed - at last. ‘If they get too close, I just flinch away. I’m worried that people will start noticing soon, especially Ron and Hermione.’ 

‘You don’t mind me touching you though. You never flinch away from me.’

‘No, it’s different with you.’ 

‘Why?’ 

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Because I trust you.’ 

‘And you don’t trust Ron or Hermione?’ 

‘No, of course I do! Just not in the same way.’ 

‘You used to tell them everything important. I always knew anything I said to you would inevitably be shared with them. You’ve been through so much together, over the years.’ 

‘I know! I know!’ Harry groaned. ‘But this is different! They wouldn’t be able to cope with it. It would just make everything really awkward.’

He could picture their reactions exactly - Hermione’s shock and horror and Ron’s utter incomprehension. Hermione would stammer out platitudes - _It’s okay, we’re here for you_ \- on autopilot, while Ron just screwed up his face and went red.

‘Besides, they’d look at me different after that. I wouldn’t be the same person I was before. I’d be someone that fucked Voldemort - I’m sorry - I know it was rape and that makes it different, but it doesn’t change the fact that Voldemort and I had sex.’ 

‘You weren’t lovers,’ Dumbledore countered. ‘What he did to you didn’t change how you felt about him.’

‘No,’ Harry agreed, ‘but that doesn’t matter. They’d still picture it when they looked at me. They’d still have to wrap their minds about the fact that it happened at all.’ 

Ron definitely wouldn’t be able to deal with it. He wouldn’t be able to look Harry in the eye for months and he’d be constantly skirting around the subject. Hermione wouldn’t be much better. In her efforts to be ‘sensitive’ to Harry’s feelings she’d end up walking on eggshells half the time and pushing for him to ‘open up’ the other half. 

No matter what happened, they’d start having private, whispered conversations about him, comparing strategies and trying to understand it all. It would be terribly traumatising for them too, even if they weren’t the ones who suffered at Voldemort’s hands.

Dumbledore was quiet for a time.

‘Perhaps you are right,’ he said eventually. ‘This is not an easy thing to come to terms with. Most people would struggle to do so.’ He paused. ‘That doesn’t mean they don’t care about you.’

‘I know.’

Harry was glad that Dumbledore hadn’t tried to argue with him, insisting that his friends would be able to shoulder any burden. That was one of the best things about the headmaster - he always spoke the truth. He never sugarcoated things, no matter how tempting that might be, and treated everyone with kindness and respect. 

‘It’s not just other people though,’ Harry said tentatively. ‘It’s ... it’s me too. I can’t ... touch myself anymore.’ He felt himself going red. ‘Not _like that_, you know?’ 

Somehow this was even harder than admitting what Voldemort had done to him. It was just so intimate and personal. 

‘I see ... ’ Albus looked thoughtful. ‘What seems to be the problem?’ 

For the second time that evening, Harry was grateful for the headmaster’s understated reaction. If he had responded with shock or disgust it would have made everything ten times more uncomfortable. 

‘I don’t know,’ Harry mumbled. ‘I still want to, but every time I try I just can’t go through with it.’ He could feel his face burning, red hot with shame. ‘I know it doesn’t matter - ‘ 

‘Of course it matters!’ Dumbledore cut across him. ‘You’re a healthy young man with urges, and your sexuality is a very important part of you.’

‘Er, Yes, well ...’ Harry blushed even deeper. ‘I just meant, I know it’s not that important in the grand scheme of things.’ 

‘I wasn’t aware that we met to discuss matters of global significance,’ Dumbledore quipped. ‘It’s very important to you, isn’t it? And it’s your personal well-being that I’m concerned with.’

Harry laughed nervously. ‘I guess.’ 

‘So tell me,’ Dumbledore continued, in a very matter of fact tone of voice, ‘what is it that stops you from “going through with it” exactly? I assume you’re still able to become aroused, physically?’ 

‘Yes,’ Harry confirmed, ‘but when I - you know - try to do something about it I always end up freezing up before I can, um, finish.’ 

‘And why is that?’ Dumbledore enquired kindly. ‘Do you have flashbacks or get the feeling that what you’re doing is wrong?’ 

‘No,’ Harry mumbled. ‘Not really, it’s not that.’ He drew his knees up to chin and buried his face in his robes. ‘It’s the feeling, when I’m about to - it reminds me of what Voldemort did with magic. How it hurt.’

Dumbledore frowned slightly. ‘What was that?’ 

Harry was confused. ‘I told you,’ he reminded him. ‘How he used magic on me to make me, ugh, get off. It was like an electric shock.’

‘Ah, forgive me,’ Dumbledore said hastily. ‘I misunderstood you. I thought he used a spell, but you’re saying he used pure magic?’ He grimaced. ‘Horribly crude, but then Lord Voldemort always was one for brute force, and he was utterly obsessed with the power of magic.’ 

Harry clenched his teeth. ‘I’d never felt anything like it. I didn’t even know something like that was possible.’ 

‘When I was a boy,’ Dumbledore said thoughtfully, ‘we used to play a game where we hit each other with pure magic. Never that hard, of course, we didn’t have that much power back then, but strong enough to sting or tingle.’

Harry was astounded. ‘You did that for fun?’ 

‘It wasn’t at all dangerous, just daunting. You had to work yourself up to it, as a test of courage.’ He smiled at Harry. ‘Would you like to play?’ 

‘What? No! Why - ?’ 

‘You might find it helps. Magic, in its purest form, can never actually harm you. The body absorbs it and it fizzles away, naturally. If you’re ready for the hit it shouldn’t even hurt.’ 

Harry looked up at him doubtfully. 

‘Here,’ Dumbledore slid off of his chair and unto the floor. ‘Sit down here with me. I’ll show you.’ 

Harry hesitated and then plopped down opposite the headmaster, crossing his legs just as he had done. 

‘Hold out your hand, like this.’ Dumbledore instructed, raising one hand with his palm facing outwards, fingers splayed. 

Harry copied him.

‘Now, we touch the tips of our fingers together.’ 

Harry complied. 

‘I’ll count to three and then, on three, I’ll send a small jolt of magic through my fingers. Very small,’ he added, seeing the look on Harry’s face. ‘So small you’ll hardly feel it, I promise.’

‘Okay.’ 

‘One - two - ‘

But before Dumbledore could let his magic loose Harry jerked his hand away. 

‘I’m sorry! I just - I just couldn’t - ‘

‘It’s okay. It’s just a game.’ Dumbledore wiggled his fingers. ‘Would you like to try again?’ 

Once more they joined their hands together. This time, Harry held out until the end of the countdown, but pulled away on three. He was too slow to avoid the shock though, which crackled at the very tips of his fingers, as gentle as static. 

‘Oh,’ he said, going red. ‘That really was nothing. I feel so stupid.’ 

‘Don’t be silly. Everyone flinches at first.’ 

Another wiggling. ‘Do you want to try again? I’ll do it exactly the same.’ 

Harry agreed and this time - finally - he managed to keep his hand in place. The shock really was barely a tingling, as if he was running his fingers through wet grass.

‘Good!’ Dumbledore exclaimed, beaming at him. ‘You see! I knew you could do it!’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Now, do you think you could handle a little more?’ 

They played the game for ten more rounds, with Dumbledore gradually increasing the amount of magic each time, until Harry was experiencing a powerful jolt that thumped through his body, making his teeth chatter. Still, he didn’t flinch - not even once - and he was no longer afraid. He was laughing at the fun of it. 

‘There, it’s not so bad is it?’ Dumbledore teased. ‘It’s just the anticipation that’s hard to bear. If you just let the magic pass through you, there’s no pain at all. 

‘Yeah,’ Harry agreed. 

‘Perhaps you could remember that later,’ Dumbledore said, ‘when you’re struggling against the tide. It’s natural to be afraid of losing control, but you need to let go and trust your body.’

He withdrew his hand and lowered his voice slightly. ‘I expect Lord Voldemort did it somewhat harder than this, but the principle is still the same. You’ve faced it just now and borne it easily. So why should you be afraid when you’re not even in danger of being struck?’

It took Harry a moment to understand what Dumbledore was saying. He’d completely forgotten what had precipitated the game, having lost himself in the challenge.

‘Because it’s not like this,’ he protested, ‘this is just a game.’ He huffed. ‘Obviously I know getting off isn’t actually going to hurt me, but whenever I get close it starts to feel like it did with Voldemort and that just freaks me out.’ 

Dumbledore looked very thoughtful, as if this was simply a complicated puzzle that he had been asked to solve.

‘So is it the sensation of being struck that you’re afraid of, or the sensation of orgasm itself?’

Harry took a moment. ‘I guess it’s just the feeling of - of coming.’ He groaned and rubbed at his face. ‘I know that sounds stupid. I mean, I do want to come - that’s the whole point - it’s just frightening when it starts to actually happen. I guess I’m afraid of losing control, like you said.’ 

He tried to think of the right words to describe how he felt but couldn’t think of any better explanation than what he’d already given. He didn’t think anyone would be able to understand, let alone put it into words.

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore asked, Do you perhaps feel like your body’s betrayed you? Like something which you previously thought of as part of yourself has become alien and untrustworthy? And now you’re frightened of it? Frightened of yourself?’ 

Harry stared at him. ‘How could you possibly know that?’

Dumbledore smiled sadly, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chin, just as Harry had done earlier that evening. 

‘When I was around your age I developed a very unhealthy relationship with another young man. It was completely consensual, nothing like what you experienced, but my lover was very cruel and manipulative. He didn’t really treat me that badly but he hurt a great many other people, including my friends and family. Once it ended, I struggled to understand how I could have such strong feelings for someone so terrible, and let those feelings overpower my conscience. I started to view attraction as something dangerous and frightening. I didn’t feel like my sexuality was really part of me. It was just something to fear and fight against.’ 

Harry was astounded. He had never thought about Albus Dumbledore as a young man or wondered about his relationships. He hadn’t even realised he was gay - although, now he thought about, the signs were there. 

‘How did you move past it?’ He asked.

‘I’m afraid I didn’t, really. I pretty much just closed down that part of myself and abandoned the idea of ever having a relationship. It was decades before I came to terms with my feelings, and even then, only in private.’ 

Harry’s heart sunk. This was not encouraging.   


‘It was a mistake, of course,’ Dumbledore said quickly. ‘I’m not a good example. It won’t be like that for you though.’ 

‘Why? Because I’m straight?’ 

‘Partly. Partly because you have much better instincts than me. You can trust yourself to make the right choices. You’re entirely pure and good.’

Harry gave him a look.

‘I know it’s hard for you to believe; You’ll just have to trust me.’

‘How can I possibly have a relationship with anyone when I can’t let anyone touch me?’ Harry muttered. ‘When I can’t even touch myself?!’

Dumbledore let out a breath, put his knees down and slid over to Harry. 

‘I’m not going to lie to you Harry, it will probably be a very long time before you’re ready, but that’s okay, you’re still so young. You can take your time.’ 

His fingers glanced over Harry’s arm.

‘As for the other thing, I’m sure you’ll be able to get past that too, in time. Just remember what I said about letting go. You’re still in control, even if doesn’t feel like it.’ 


	9. Broken

He pushed Ginny without thinking, as one might withdraw a hand from a snake that bites. It wasn’t necessary - she was only going to give him a hug - and there certainly wasn’t any excuse for doing it _that hard_. She fell back onto the pitch with enough force to crack a nut and her broom fell out of her hand. Tears sprung up in her eyes as she clutched her skull, more from the shock than the pain, or so Harry hoped, as she gazed up at him in bewilderment. 

‘I - I’m sorry,’ Harry stammered, aware of everyone’s eyes upon him. ‘I didn’t mean to - ‘

But what could he say? Boys did not shove away girls who went to hug them. Especially sweet, pretty girls who made them laugh. Girls they’d been thinking about constantly in guilty moments over the past few weeks. Girls who were their teammates, joining them in celebration of a glorious victory. 

Fred and George were glaring daggers at him while Angelina knelt down to help Ginny up. Harry noticed her wincing as she got to her feet, her eyes bright with tears.

Harry turned away before anyone could do or say anything else and and ran off, back to the school. 

He was running as fast as he could and yet Ron still managed to catch up with him.

‘Oi!’ He yelled, lunging for Harry’s sleeve.

‘What?!’ Harry threw back.

‘What? You just hit my sister, that’s what! What the bloody hell are you playing at?!’

‘I - it was an accident.’

‘Then why’d you run off? What's going on with you?'

Harry shook his head and tried to jerk free of his friend’s grip. 

‘Let me go! I just - I can’t deal with this right now.’

‘No way! You’ve been acting weird for ages now. I want to know what’s up.’

Harry gritted his teeth. Ron was far too close for comfort. 

‘Let go or I'll break your goddamn nose!' 

Ron drew back, mouth gaping wide. ‘You’ve lost it, mate,’ he hissed. ‘Seriously.’

Harry finally pulled free out of his grasp and continued on his way, feet pounding the floorboards. With everyone else still down at the quidditch pitch the corridors were empty and thankfully he met no one else.

Dumbledore looked up in surprise when Harry charged into his office. 

‘Harry? Why aren’t you at the match?’ 

Harry opened his mouth to explain but instead, quite unexpectedly, burst into tears. 

Dumbledore crossed the office in two seconds flat, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him into a hug. Harry dropped his head down limply on the headmaster’s shoulder. 

‘I’m just so messed up inside,’ he mumbled into Dumbledore’s robes.

‘Why would you say that? You’re doing so well.’

‘I’m not.’ 

Harry noticed Dumbledore glancing towards the door, as if he could hear someone else approaching.

'What is it?' He asked. 

Dumbledore grimaced. 'Fudge. I'm supposed to be meeting with him. That's why I'm up here instead of down at the pitch.' 

'Oh, God!' Harry backed away and started rubbing frantically at his eyes. 'I'll go!' 

The last thing he needed was for the Minister for Magic to catch him here, like this. He already thought Harry was unhinged. 

'No, no!' Dumbledore flicked his wand at his desk and a fresh peice of parchment appeared. 'I'll leave him a note.' 

'You can't! What will you tell him?' 

'That something more important came up.' 

Words scrawled themselves across the parchment in Dumbledore's elegant hand. Once the final piece of punctuation was dotted in place, Dumbledore led Harry to trick bookcase, through its portal and up to his private rooms. 

These were very spacious and impressive with grand furnishings. If Harry hadn’t been so upset he would have been grateful for the opportunity to spend time here, admiring all the beautiful decorations.

'Sit down with me and tell me what’s happened,’ Dumbledore instructed, guiding Harry to the sofa.

Harry curled up against the headmaster and related everything that had just happened, down on the quidditch pitch.

‘ ... and then Ron chased after me and asked what was going on, but I just shouted at him and pushed him away, so he’s angry with me too. He thinks I’m going crazy and I don’t blame him.’

‘He will forgive you if you apologise,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘You two have fallen out before.’ 

‘Yeah, but not like this.’

‘He knows you’ve been through a lot.’ 

‘But that was so long ago! He doesn’t understand why it’s still bothering me. As far as he's concerned everything's good now Voldemort's dead and gone.'

Dumbledore thought for a moment. ‘You should tell him that Lord Voldemort used the imperious curse on you the night he returned and made you hurt people.’ 

‘But that's not true!'

‘It is true,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘He did use the imperious curse on you, at one point, and he did make you hurt someone - yourself. The details don't matter.'

Harry said nothing. 

‘And I’m sure Miss Weasley would understand that too,’ Dumbledore continued. ‘Remember, she was once possessed by Lord Voldemort herself and forced to set Slytherin’s monster free in the school. She knows exactly what it’s like to lose control to him. She may understand better than anyone.’

Harry snuffled. 'I like her,' he admitted.

'I thought you might.'

'But I'm never going to be able to be with her.' 

Dumbledore sighed. 'You don't know that. Give it time.' 

'It's been over two years and nothing's changed! I know you're trying to help me and I do appreciate it but it's not working.' 

Dumbledore sighed again. He didn't argue, just rubbed soothingly at his back. 

'I'm just so scared I'll never get over this, that I'll never be like I was before.' 

'I know, I know.' 

Harry pressed his head to Dumbledore's chest and listened to his heartbeat.

'I've been trying to do what you said, about - about touching myself, when I'm alone, but I just can't push through to the end. I'm really worried I'll never be able to enjoy that stuff again.' He closed his eyes. 'I just want to feel good, you know?'

'I know.' 

Harry breathed deeply and waited several seconds. 'Would you ... help me?' 

'I am trying, Harry.'

'No,' Harry said, squirming. 'I mean _help_ me.'

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. 

'Why would you ask that of me?' 

Dumbledore took Harry's chin and tilted it up, forcing him to look at him. His eyes were framed by worried wrinkles and a heavy frown. 

'You know what you are to me.' 

Harry did know. If there had ever been any doubt it had been swept away, over the last several months, as Dumbledore fought and cared for him.

'I need someone,' he whispered hoarsely, 'and you're the only one I trust. The only I feel safe with.’

Dumbledore's fingers glided softly over Harry's hair which, in the absence of Aunt Petunia’s frequent, mandatory haircuts, had grown down to his shoulders.

'You're just a child.' 

Harry frowned. 'After everything I've been through? There's no innocence left in me to protect, and it's not like you can put it back.'

'You're still a child in my eyes.'

It didn't take much to rearrange those words into something more heart-wrenching. If Dumbledore chose not to make such statement it could only be be because he felt he did not deserve to, having been absent from so much of Harry’s early life. As far as Harry was concerned though, he’d more than made up for it later.

'You killed people for me,' Harry said quietly. 'Is this really so much worse?' 

'That was something I did for you. This would be something I did to you, and you know it wouldn’t be right.’

He rose from his seat, untangling himself purosely from Harry's gangly limbs. 

'Youre upset,' he said. 'You're not thinking clearly. I think it's time you returned to your friends to make amends. By now they must have begun their wild celebrations in the Dormitory. It’s a good time to interupt.

He made a gesture at Harry, to get up and go, but Harry didn't move. 

'Do you think I'm sick for asking?' He whispered.

Dumbledore's face creased up again. 'No, of course not, Harry. I can see how you're struggling.' 

He took his hand and pulled him up. 

‘Please, let's not discuss this any further.' 

Reluctantly, Harry allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and steered out of the room. 


	10. Forbidden Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Chapter re-written! I don’t mean to muck you guys around, but I decided to move things around a bit so that Harry is safely of age when the relationship with Dumbledore starts. I’ll have another chapter ready soon.

Harry walked through the trees, silent and unseen, now and again reaching out to caress their trunks. Their rough bark scratched his skin but his hands did nothing to them. It comforted him to know he could still touch a living thing so easily and that his touch would not harm it. The forest had been there for centuries, its trees almost as ancient as the school. They were strong enough to withstand anything. 

Leaves rustled in the wind, brushing lightly against his arms, and rainwater soaked through the invisibility cloak. Harry didn't mind this, though. The water was cool and crisp. It made him feel clean again, like a reborn Christian freshly baptised.

Presently, he realised that he was not alone. Amongst the unseeing trees and shrubs, there was another person there, watching him from the shadows. A rustle of robes, a soft sigh of breath. 

‘How did you find me?’ Harry asked. 

Dumbledore materialised beside him. ‘Intuition,’ he said.

‘Not magic?’ 

‘Intuition is a kind of magic.’ 

Harry smiled and pushed back his hood. His face was damp with rainwater, hair slicked back behind his ears, as if he’d just gone for a swim in the Great Lake. 

‘I understand you’ve made up with your friends,’ Dumbledore said. ‘McGonagall told me they were celebrating late into the night.’ 

‘Well, they’re talking to me again,’ Harry replied. ‘I don’t know if they’ve all forgiven me, though. Ron’s still acting funny around me. Tense, like he thinks I’m going to flip out at any moment.’

‘They care about you.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said doubtfully. ‘I know.’

They both fell silent for a time. Somewhere, not too far away, something let out a plaintive howl. 

'I’m sorry we quarrelled,’ Dumbledore said softly. 

‘We didn’t really,’ Harry replied. 

‘You haven’t been to see me since.’ 

‘Been embarrassed.’ 

Silence, then, ‘You shouldn’t really be out here at this time. It’s dangerous.’ 

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ 

'I could send Fawkes to you again.’

Harry made a face. 'No offense to Fawkes, but I don't think a bird's going to be much help.' 

'How rude.' 

'You know what I mean. Animal companionship can only get you so far.' 

’Ah,’ Dumbledore sighed. 'I understand.' 

Harry looked up at him helplessly. 'You always do.'

Dumbledore met his eyes solemnly. ‘Well, I was young once. Young and lonely and desperate.' He paused. 'One day, there will be someone who can help you with that, I promise. The right person.' 

'You're the right person.’ He objected. ‘For this, anyway. For now.'

Dumbledore’s face crumpled. 'I had hoped you would change your mind about that,’ he said unhappily, ‘after you'd had time to think things over.' 

'No,' Harry replied.

His request had not just been a spur of the moment thing. He'd thought about it many times before, over the last few months. It was the only solution his frantic mind had supplied to the riddle of his suffering. 

Dumbledore’s face was a Greek mask; a perfect illustration of agony and despair. ‘I know you think you want - or need - this now, but you may not - almost certainly wouldn’t - feel the same way later. I can’t be responsible for one more regret, one more source of shame for you. I couldn’t bear to hurt you like that.’

Harry said nothing to this, prompting Dumbledore to add, ‘You do understand, don’t you?’

’Yeah, sure,’ Harry muttered. ‘You’re just being responsible.’ He spat out the last word, scornfully, because really, when had Dumbledore ever acted responsibly?

’Harry,’ Dumbledore breathed softly, speaking the word like an oath. ‘You know how much I care for you. It’s not for a lack of affection that I’m refusing you. Not that affection is the same as - ‘

Okay, I get it!’ Harry snapped. ‘Can we just drop it?’

Dumbledore fell silent, his eyes gazing down at Harry mournfully. After a moment he reached down to cup Harry’s wet chin in his hand. He forced the boy to look up at him, to see the sincerity in his eyes. ‘You’re a brave, brilliant, handsome young man, with a pure and honest soul. You are, I promise you, impossibly lovable and you will be loved.’

Harry shivered. He wanted to look away, but found he could not. Dumbledore’s ice blue eyes held him in place.

’Will you forgive me for denying you?’

Harry’s lips twisted. ‘Of course I do.’ Surely, they both knew that Dumbledore needed no forgiveness. He was only doing the right thing, as a teacher, as a mentor as a ... well, everything.

’I don’t want you to think this is a rejection,’ Dumbledore continued earnestly, ‘because I do not reject you.’ One hand crept to the back of Harry’s head, fingers raking through his long, unkempt hair. ‘Harry.’

Harry sighed and fell forward into Dumbledore’s arms and the old man held him and stroked at his hair.

’Just give it time,’ Dumbledore murmured. ‘Just give it time.’


	11. St Mungo’s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT! Just to cause maximum confusion I’ve re-written the last chapter quite a bit and inserted the conclusion to that conversation in here. This is because I’ve decided to age Harry up a bit for the point at which the sexual relationship with Dumbledore begins. He should be around nineteen now.

All healers wore gloves, the only difference with Harry was that he never took them off. From the moment he had first slipped on a pair of the snow-white silk gloves, enchanted for cleanliness, he had felt safe and protected and swore never to remove them again. After nearly two years of training he still hadn’t. 

Whether he was examining patients or interacting with his fellow students, his gloves left him secure in the knowledge that skin to skin contact was quite impossible. As long as he was wearing his gloves he could tolerate casual touches, such as a pat on the shoulder or a poke in the back, without flinching or lashing out. 

The other students all slipped off their gloves at the end of their shifts, or before eating lunch in the cafeteria, but Harry only removed his gloves when he was alone at home. And even then, only in the rare moments when he tried to touch himself, alone in the darkness of his bedroom. 

Such experiments never went well. He twitched and whimpered as he wrestled with the beast inside himself, but the battle always ended up with him scrambling back against the headboard and cramming his gloves back on. 

While he was around other people the gloves never ever came off, not even for a second. He didn’t want to risk contamination. 

There was only one exception to this rule. Harry peeled off his gloves before shaking his old headmaster’s hand, in an earnest expression of intimacy. Dumbledore seemed both touched and concerned by the gesture, perhaps perceiving how unusual it was. 

‘Your skin’s so dry,’ he remarked. 

‘We have to keep clean, all the time.’ Harry said, hastily covering himself up again. Dumbledore accepted this explanation without further comment. 

They walked out into the courtyard where there was a small garden. At its centre was a statue of Mungo Bonham himself, arms spread wide. In one hand he held his wand and in the other a small bird.

Harry and Dumbledore sat down in the saint’s shadow and struck up a friendly conversation.

‘How are you getting on in your studies?’ Dumbledore asked first. ‘Have you given any thought to your speciality?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry replied. ‘I was thinking of going into Critical Injuries. I’ve gotten pretty good at regrowing limbs and resetting bones and I think I’ll cope well with big accidents and emergencies. I‘ve had a lot of experience after all.’ 

‘That’s true,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘You spent more time in the hospital wing than all the other students put together.’

Harry returned the smile. ‘Yeah, but that wasn't my fault.' 

'Sometimes it was. You were quite reckless and headstrong.' 

‘Anyway,' Harry continued, 'it’s really satisfying work because you can see the progress you're making as the flesh grows back, and you know you’re making a real difference. So many magical diseases and injuries are strange and mysterious. You can spend years treating them without ever finding a cure.’ 

'That's true,' Dumbledore agreed, and then, ‘How’s Sirius?’

‘Good. Quiet. I expected him to be more ... I don’t know, excited to be free. Making the most of it. Not that I mind.’ Harry shrugged. ‘It’s not like I’m looking for a wild party each night.’

‘Is he taking care of himself alright?’ Dumbledore asked and Harry suspected what he really meant was, Is he taking care of _you_ alright?

‘Yeah, he’s doing okay. He still spends most of his time as dog, but Kreacher does all the cooking and cleaning so that doesn’t really matter. We have dinner together every night, although sometimes he has his in a bowl on the floor.’ 

Dumbledore sighed. ‘I was always thought he would have trouble adjusting. Most people who go into Azkaban never come out again. It's designed to break people.'

‘He hates the house too,’ Harry told him. ‘He says it reminds him too much of his childhood. He’s trying to sell it but no one wants to buy. I guess it spooks them out.’

‘The house must be filled with dark magic. It probably doesn't want to be sold.’ 

Harry agreed this was almost certainly so. Certain corners of the house screamed in protest at the presence of an outsider living where only the noble Black family should reside. 

‘Have you seen much of your friends?’ 

A twitch of discomfort. No,’ he admitted. ‘Ron’s in Romania at the moment visiting Charlie and Hermione’s busy with her internship at the Ministry.’ 

‘Ah, I see,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Isn’t there ... anyone else?’ 

‘No,’ snapped Harry, almost defiantly. 

‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ 

‘I’m not upset. I just wish you wouldn’t go on about it.’

‘I worry about you,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘You know that. I'm afraid you might be lonely.’

Harry looked away. ‘I am still lonely sometimes,’ he admitted, ‘but, well ... you know how it is for me.’ 

‘Still?’ 

‘Yeah.’ Harry looked down at his gloved hands and grimaced. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be the person that I used to be.’ 

‘Perhaps, but you could become someone else,’ Dumbledore countered. ‘Another version of yourself.’ 

‘I don’t know how to do that,’ Harry replied. ‘I am trying though.’

A shadow fell over Dumbledore’s heavily lined face. ‘I wish I there was more I could do. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be healthy and happy.’ 

Harry nodded, eyes still cast down. ‘I did ask you to help me once, in a more ... direct way.’ 

He paused for a moment, waiting to see if Dumbledore would say anything, but Dumbledore stayed silent, so he continued.

‘I never brought it up again because I didn’t want to make you angry, but sometimes I still wish you would’ve ... ‘

He trailed off weakly. There was an uncomfortable silence.

‘I was never angry with you, Harry,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I could never be angry with you.’ 

‘Just disappointed?’ Harry quipped with a limp smile. Dumbledore’s expression did not change. 

‘I will admit that your request greatly troubled me, Harry. You were so young.’ A pause. ‘You’re still so young.’ 

‘I don’t feel it,' Harry replied. 'I feel ancient.' 

'I know.' Dumbledore gazed down at Harry with a fond, yet fraught expression. 'Is that sort of ... assistance still something you think you want?' 

Harry hesitated then nodded. 'I'm still desperate,' he admitted, 'and you're stil the only one I trust, the only one I feel comfortable with.' 

'Surely there's someone else you would prefer - ' 

'No,' Harry interupted. 'I wouldn't be able to, you know. I can't do anything, that's the point. I couldn't be with a girl, no matter how much I liked her.' 

Dumbledore frowned, his blue eyes going narrow and squinty. 'What makes you think I'll be able to help anyway? Surely you know your body better than anyone else?' 

'Because I can't see it through,' Harry whined, 'you know that. I freeze up, in fear, and can't go on.' 

'Still?'

'Yes, still!' Harry scowled at the old man. 'I don't know why you think anything would've changed.' 

Dumbledore let out breath. 'Very well, and why do you think I can help?' 

Harry stared at him. 'Because you help with everything,' he said, very quietly. 'You make things better.' 

Dumbledore looked half-amused, half-devastated, by this statement.

'And I need someone else,' Harry hurtled on, before Dumbledore could say anything. 'I need someone to force me to go through with it. To make it happen, even if I'm trying to fight against it.' 

'You think you need someone to force you?' Dumbledore repeated, alarmed

'Only to help me do what I want. My body just won't co-operate when it's just me. I need someone else to help.' 

Dumbledore sighed and turned away, studying the statue and saying nothing at all. After a minute or so, Harry began to grow impatient. 

'Do you really think it would be wrong?' 

Dumbledore was surprised. 'Don't you?' 

'No,' Harry said defiantly. 'We have all sorts of long-term patients here,' he gestured around at the hospital, 'and the nurses and healers have to do everything for them. Even the most intimate, embarrassing things. How is that any different?' 

'It feels different to me,' Dumbledore said.

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that and he thought, after a moment or two, that the conversation must be over. Then - 

'If,' Dumbledore began, drawing the word out. 'If ... ' A single syllable full of promise.

'Yes?' Harry said eagerly, turning round to face him.

Dumbledore seemed to waver, like a diver on a cliff edge.

'If ... If I invited you to come stay with me, overnight ... ' He trailed off, without finishing his sentance, for the first time in Harry's memory.

'We wouldn't have to do anything other than talk,' Dumbledore continued, skipping right over the uncomfortable part, 'but I would try to help you with ... with your problem.'

Harry's body flooded with heat. He tried to keep his face neutral, afraid that if he showed any emotion that it would scare Dumbledore off, convince him that this was a bad idea after all.

'Yes,' he said. 'I'd like that.'


	12. Tower Bedroom

Harry had grown accustomed to dressing in layers, bulking out his robes with old quidditch jerseys and Christmas jumpers, no matter what the weather. As he sat on Dumbledore's bed in the headmaster’s suite, perching on the very edge, he felt every inch of his wool and cotton armour. 

‘Do I have to get undressed?’ He asked. ‘I don’t want to be naked. I’m never naked in front of anyone.’ 

‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’

Kneeling down in front of Harry, Dumbledore said, ‘Whatever we do this evening we’ll do at your pace.’ 

He took Harry's hand in his own, soft fingers brushing over Harry’s ever-present gloves.

‘Are there any ground rules you want lay down? Any boundaries I need to be keep in mind?’

Harry shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Not particularly.’ 

‘Well, If you think of anything just tell me.’ 

He ran one hand through Harry’s hair. 

‘I was assuming we would talk things through first and think about where we want to go from there. Is that what you were expecting?’ 

Harry nodded. ‘Yeah.’ 

‘Alright then. Make yourself comfortable.’

Harry reluctantly began shedding his outer layers, leaving his gloves for last. These he peeled off reluctantly, exposing skin almost as white as the silk. Once he was done Dumbledore leant over him and tucked him in like a child.

‘Would you like the lights on or off?'

'I don't know.’

His first urge was to hide away in the darkness but he also wanted to be able to look to Dumbledore for comfort. He wished he'd brought his invisibility cloak. It would have been much easier if he could’ve just vanished beneath it.

'I can leave just a little light?' 

'Okay.' 

Dumbledore clicked his fingers and all the candles in the room flickered, their flames dimming to a faint glow. 

‘I’ll just be a moment,’ he told Harry, before disappearing into the bathroom. 

He re-emerged a few minutes later in a powder-blue nightgown edged in lace. His long white hair and beard swept about his waist like a mist, lending him an eerie, wraith-like appearance. 

'Is there anything else I can get you?’

'No, I’m fine.’ 

‘You’re sure?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Alright then.’ 

Dumbledore pulled back the covers and slipped in beside Harry. For several moments they just lay still in the bed, staring at each other.

Then Dumbledore reached out and started to stroke at Harry’s cheek. 

'So, tell me,' he began, in a teacherly tone. 'Do you remember the first time you masturbated?'

Harry drew in a breath. ‘Yes.' 

'How old were you?' 

'Eleven. I had just turned eleven.' 

'And where was it? Can you remember?'

Harry thought for a second. 

'It was just before I started school. I remember because I had just moved into my new room. Before then it, uh, was sort of a spare room that Dudley used for storage. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs and it was all cramped and uncomfortable in there, and there wasn't even have a lock on the door. At least, not on the inside.' 

He glanced up at Dumbledore, unsure how much of this the man already knew. Dumbledore looked sad, but not surprised. 

'Go on,' he prompted.

'I knew what I was doing. I mean, it wasn't an accident. I had learned about sex at school and about wanking and stuff from the other boys. I had tried touching myself before too. I just hadn't quite got the hang of it before then.' 

'Can you remember how it felt?' 

Harry smiled shyly. 'Yeah. It was ... good, obviously.' 

'Did it take you by surprise?' 

'I guess, yeah.' Harry scrunched up his face. 'It was way more intense than I expected. Scarier.' 

'Scarier?' Dumbledore repeated. 'Were you really scared, even then? Was that the word you would have used at the time?' 

'No, no. I, um, probably would have said ... forceful? I dunno. I guess I thought it would just going feel really nice, like when you're especially happy about something. I didn't know it was gonna be so physical.' 

'Ah.'

'What about you?' Harry threw back. 'How old were you when you first did it?' 

He wasn't sure whether he ought to question the headmaster like this, but it seemed only fair. 

As it was, Dumbledore did not seem offended and was quite happy to answer him. 

'I was around ten or eleven too, before the start of school. Our birthdays are actually quite close, you know, although a century apart. I was born on the fourth of August.' 

'Really? I had no idea!' 

‘Well, I don't really celebrate my birthdays anymore. You don’t when you get to my age. My parents owned a small farm so I knew the basics about sex but I was mostly acting on instinct.'

'Did it surprise _you_ then?' 

Dumbledore laughed. 'Yes, I think so. Once you get started though you have an idea where you're going, and I was definitely eager to get there.'

Harry laughed too. 

Dumbledore moved an arm under his head to prop himself up more comfortably. 

'What do you think about, when you're touching yourself?' He asked.

Harry squirmed. 'I don't know. Girls. The usual stuff.' 

'Like what?' 

'I - I can't say. It's too embaressing.' He fidgeted with the comforter. 'What about you? What do you think about?' 

‘Well, when I was your age I used to fantasise about a lot of crazy things. Like going into the forest and getting ravaged by an entire herd of centaurs.' 

Harry let out a splutter of shocked laughter. 'Seriously?' 

'Seriously,' Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling. 'Of course, I would never actually do that. It was just a fantasy.'

Harry hesitated a moment more before confessing, 'I used to think about stuff like getting off with girls in the changing rooms after quidditch practice. Or, like, practicing sex spells on each other.' 

'Do you know any sex spells?' Dumbledore asked, with surprise.

'No, no, it's just pretend. I didn't even think that sort of thing was real. Not until ... '

Not until Dumbledore had told him so, in their discussions about Voldemort. 

'I see,' Dumbledore said. 

A pause, and then Dumbledore asked, 'Will you show me how you do it?' 

Harry stared at him. 'You mean ... touch myself?' 

'Yes.' 

Harry felt himself blush. 'I thought _you_would touch _me.’_

'I will if you really want me to, but I'd like you to try by yourself first.'

Harry looked away. 'I don't think I can.' 

Dumbledore waited and then asked, 'What position do you do it in? On your back or your side or ... ?' 

'On my back,' Harry said. 

'Lie on your back then.' 

Harry complied, staring up at the ceiling. 

'What hand do you use?' 

'My right.' 

‘Okay then.’

Dumbledore took Harry's right hand and guided it into place. 

Harry forced himself to stay calm and allowed himself to be puppetted. After a few seconds, Dumbledore withdrew and Harry continued by himself. 

It took him a long time to get hard and even longer to ease into a steady rhythm, but eventually he hit his stride and began to feel the familiar rippling in his abdomen. 

There was a moment of triumph where he leant into the feeling before instinct kicked in and he recoiled, legs bracing against the onslaught.

'You're tensing,' Dumbledore whispered. 

'I know,' Harry hissed.

'Is it because I'm here?' 

'No, it's always like this. I can't help it.'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Just try to relax.' 

Harry did try, but each time he tried to resume his movements, he ended up seizing up again, muscles tightening into a wall against the tide of pleasure. 

'I cant! I just can't!' He felt near to tears. 

Dumbledore moved closer, curling his body around his. 

'It's okay. It's okay.'

Harry turned his head and buried his face in Dumbledore's beard, breathing heavily. 

'I just feel so pathetic,' he whimpered. ‘Pathetic and useless.’

'Don’t' Dumbledore urged, rubbing at his back.

They were quiet for a time, then Dumbledore asked, 'Do you perhaps feel angry at your body, Harry?' 

'What?' Harry muttered. 'Why would I be angry?' 

'For betraying you, with Voldemort.' 

Harry hesistated. 'That would be stupid.'

'Even so. Our feelings are not always rational.'

Harry tangled his fingers in Dumbledore’s hair.

'Perhaps,' he admitted. 

'I think,' Dumbledore said slowly, 'you should forgive your body. Tell it that you understand why it reacted the way it did, that you know it was only trying to care for you and make you feel good. Tell it that you forgive it.' 

'What? Out loud?' 

'Yes,' Dumbledore insisted. 'It might seem silly, but I think it might help.' 

Harry gathered his courage. 

'I forgive you,' he whispered. 'I forgive you for what you did. I know you didn't mean to hurt me.' 

He felt very foolish but Dumbledore wasn't laughing at him. He was gazing down at him with love and pity.

'Try again now,' he instructed. 'Touch yourself.' 

Harry did as he was told but got no further than before.

'It's no good!' He whimpered. 'I can't just do it!' 

And then he really was crying and Dumbledore was hugging him to his chest, murmuring reassuringly in his ear. 

'It's okay, Harry, it’s okay. We'll find a way through.' 

'No we won’t,’ Harry protested. ‘This is it now. I’m always going to be like this. I just know it.’ He took a deep, ragged breath. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t want it, didn’t need it. Perhaps you should just cast a spell to dry up all my desire. That would be easier.’ 

'That's not what you want,' Dumbledore chided, 'besides I could never quench the need entirely. This is a thirst of the soul as well as the body.' 

Harry sobbed in despair. ‘I’m so tired of feeling this way.’

‘I know.’ Dumbledore murmured, rubbing at Harry’s back. ‘Do you still want me to try touching you?’

Harry clung tighter. ‘Yes, please.’

'Alright, but promise me you'll tell me if you're uncomfortable. Let me know the second you want to stop, even if it’s just for a short break.’

'I promise,’ Harry breathed. 

'Lie back down then.'

Harry did as he was told. He didn't flinch when Dumbledore’s long, cool fingers first grazed against his bare flesh and stayed calm even when the older man began to stroke. 

'You're still tensing,' Dumbledore whispered, after a few moments.

'I know!' Harry whimpered. ‘I'm trying!' 

'Don't apologize. Just try and relax.' 

Harry couldn’t relax though. He got more and more worked up until he was in tears once again.

‘It’s no good,’ he sobbed. ‘It’s hopeless.’ 

'Don’t give up yet, just take a moment. Calm yourself down.’ 

‘Can’t you give me a potion or something?’ Harry pleaded desperately. ‘A calming draught or something like that?’ 

‘I’d rather not,’ Dumbledore replied. 

‘Well, you’ve got to do something!’ 

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment and then suggested tentatively, 'Perhaps I could use my fingers?' 

Harry was taken aback. 

'You mean ... inside?' 

'Yes.’

‘I don’t think - ‘ Harry bit his lip, recalling how it had felt to be penetrated, the visceral pain of his rape. ‘Won’t that hurt?’ 

‘Not if done right,’ Dumbledore assured him. ‘In fact, it should feel very good, although in quite a different way than you’re used to. I think that’s a good thing. You might not flinch away from the pleasure.’ 

Harry considered, chewing at his own mouth. 

‘No, I can't,' he mumbled. 'It's ... dirty.' 

‘You mean ... literally?’ 

Harry nodded, blushing. He knew that Dumbledore had already seen that part of him, turning him inside out with magic, but that was not the same as physically poking about up there. 

'It doesn't have to be.' Dumbledore assured him, reached for his wand. 'I can use a spell to clean you out and make you comfortable. It's normal to prepare like that beforehand.' 

Harry was unconvinced. He jerked away from Dumbledore, rubbing at his eyes. 'Wouldn’t that hurt?' 

'No. It's a nice feeling.'

'Not like ... a scouring spell?' 

'No, nothing like that.'

Harry swallowed. 'Okay.'

It didn't hurt, but felt very strange, like water rushing through him and then vanishing abruptly. He gasped and shivered at the sensation.

Dumbledore placed a hand on his stomach. 'Was that okay?' He whispered.

'Yeah, fine. Just ... a bit weird.' 

The spell had obviously done something else to his insides, stretching and softening them, because Dumbledore’s fingers slid in easily. Harry forced himself to lie still and breathe steadily as the headmaster probed him. 

For a long time he felt nothing, but then something began to throb deep inside him and his hips juddered in response. 

'That's it,' Dumbledore breathed. ‘Just relax. Let it happen.’ 

Harry screwed up his eyes and concentrated on the feeling. It was not so intense as when he stroked himself, but it was remarkable none the less. A gentle, persistent pleasure rising and falling like sea waves.

‘Perhaps, I could use a little magic too?’ Dumbledore suggested. 

Harry stiffened. ‘You mean like - ‘ 

‘Like before, in my office. Just a little pulse of pure magic.’

‘Oh ... okay.’ 

Harry was a little afraid but he quashed the feeling, reminding himself how harmless their past exchange of magic had been; A childish game of chicken.

When the first spark of magic lit up his insides it was a shock, but not an unpleasant one. Dumbledore gradually increased the pressure until all his nerves were on fire and he was panting and shaking like a freshly-caught minnow. 

It had been a long time since he had felt anything like this and when Dumbledore slid his free hand round the front, wrapping his fingers about Harry’s erection, it almost became too much. 

'Please,' he gasped, hips spasming. ‘Please. I want it so much’.

'That’s it,' Dumbledore exclaimed, sounding strangely breathless himself. 'Just let it happen, Harry.’

And Harry did. 

His orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him gasping and spluttering, hips jerking in frantic spasms. 

When he finally recovered he found his stomach and thighs wet from the storm and the sheets, twisted up between his legs, uncomfortably damp.

'I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - so much. I guess I was all backed up.’ 

Dumbledore laughed. ‘Naturally.’ 

He cleaned Harry up with a spell, warming and drying him in an instant.

'Are you tired now?’ He asked.

'Yes,’ Harry admitted. 

‘Then go to sleep, precious boy.’ 


	13. Morning After

Harry dreamt that he was lying between the paws of a great white lion, his face nestled in its mane. When he woke up he found himself snuggled up against Dumbledore, with his beard tickling his throat, his dream made sense. 

He had never shared a bed with anyone before and yet it felt quite natural to do so with Dumbledore. He was completely comfortable, enveloped in the other man’s warmth, and considered going straight back to sleep as there was nothing to get up for. 

He reached out to touch Dumbledore’s face, tracing the lines in the old man’s pale skin. Dumbledore stirred at the contact, slowly opened his eyes, and then gave Harry a fragile smile. 

‘Are you alright, my sweet boy?’

‘Yes,’ Harry replied shyly. 

Dumbledore’s fingers ghosted over his cheek.

‘You slept well?’ 

‘Yes.’

‘Good,’ 

For a while they lay in silence, gazing at each other, then Dumbledore pushed back the blankets and climbed out. 

‘I’m going to go take a bath. Will you wait here for me?’ 

Harry nodded, sitting up in the bed and bringing his knees to his chest.

‘There’s something else I’d like you to do while I’m gone,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I’d like you to try touching yourself again.’ 

Harry stared at him. ‘You mean here ... in your bed?’ It occurred to him that he had already done it in Dumbledore’s bed, with his assistance no less. ‘Alone,’ he added.

’Yes,’ Dumbledore replied calmly. ‘I want to make sure you can do it by yourself.’ 

’Oh,’ said Harry. Then, ‘Would you teach me the spells you used last night? So I can do it like you did?’ 

Dumbledore smiled. ‘Of course.’ He sat back down on the bed and drew his wand. ‘They’re very simple spells really and you already have some experience.’

Harry listened carefully as Dumbledore explained, grateful that the old man did not suggest a practical demonstration. It would have been too embarrassing, even after everything they'd done last night. 

He struggled to get started once the headmaster was gone. It just felt so strange to be playing with himself in the large, grand bedroom that was still new to him. The morning light was streaming in through the windows and his eyes kept catching on all the pictures and ornaments.

Eventually he closed his eyes and lost himself in his fantasies and then it didn’t take that long at all. There was no moment of panic, just a mounting excitement and explosion of pleasure. 

Afterwards he was sticky and breathless. He wished he had asked Dumbledore to teach him a cleaning spell too. He was terrified of leaving stains on the richly embroidered sheets. 

Dumbledore knocked on the door before coming back in, as if it were not his own room.

'How did you get on?' He asked Harry.

'Alright,' Harry replied. 'I, um, managed it anyway.' 

'I’m so glad.’ Dumbledore sat down beside him and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘Were there any issues? Did you feel what you felt before? The fear or the hesitation?’ 

‘No.’ Harry smiled. ‘It felt a bit weird doing it here but I wasn’t scared. I felt safe.’ He paused a moment, thinking. ‘I don’t know how it will be when I’m back home. I feel a lot better about my body though. It helped, what you said, about forgiving myself.’ 

‘You’ve done very well,’ Dumbledore told him. 

Harry blushed even deeper. ‘It seems an odd sort of thing to be praised for,’ he muttered. 

Dumbledore chuckled. ‘Perhaps, but you’ve overcome a great obstacle. You deserve to be praised.’

He combed Harry’s hair behind his ears, brushing right down the curls at the tips.

‘Would you like to have a wash now?’ He asked. ‘I’ve laid out some fresh towels and put your clothes on the counter.’ 

Harry smiled up at him gratefully, ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Then perhaps we could go for a walk around the grounds? It’s quite bright out.’ 

‘Yes. I’d like that.’ 

**

The headmaster’s bathroom was all bright marble and coloured glass; a glittering array of blues and greens and golds. As with in the bedroom, the little birds wrought in the stain glass windows were enchanted to flutter around inside the frame and tropical fish leapt from tile to tile about the large claw-footed bathtub.

Harry scrubbed every inch of his skin and scraped the dirt out from beneath his nails then lay back in the bath for some time. Once he was done he got out and searched for his clothes. He found them clean, dry, and neatly pressed. His gloves, however, were nowhere to be seen. He stood there for a a while uncertainly, wondering what to do, dripping water on the marble floor, before returning to the bedroom.

‘Have you my gloves?’ He asked Dumbledore. 

’Yes,’ Dumbledore replied, gesturing at the dresser. Harry’s snow white healer’s gloves were folded nicely on the right hand side. ‘You don’t need them now though, do you?’ 

Harry hesitated. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t.’

**

‘It feels strange going for a walk without Sirius,’ Harry told Dumbledore as they crossed the grounds. ‘We always go out together in the evenings and to the park at the weekend.’ 

‘He goes as a dog, I assume?’ 

‘Yes, he does.’ Harry smiled. ‘I don’t mind though. I like to take a ball. Play catch with him.’ 

‘Sounds nice, although I do wish Sirius felt more comfortable in his human body. It’s is not healthy to hide away from other people like that.’ 

They were both silent a for while. 

‘I have been thinking about your difficulty touching others,’ Dumbledore said eventually. ‘I know that you still find it unpleasant when other people touch you unexpectedly, so I wonder whether you could try initiating contact more?’ He stopped suddenly, turned and took Harry’s bare hands in his own. ‘Think of physical contact as a gift you give others. It’s something nice you can do for them. Something that feels good.’ 

Harry let out a snort before he could stop himself. ‘It’s not a gift. No one wants me to touch them.’ 

‘You can’t honestly believe that, Harry. If people didn’t want to touch you they wouldn’t try.’ A pause. ‘I know you’ve often felt ... unworthy of such attention, but I promise that’s not how others see you.’ 

Harry shuffled his feet. ‘Okay, I will try.’ 

‘Just reach out to others as you do with me,’ Dumbledore squeezed his hands. ‘I’m sure they will appreciate it, just as much as I do.’ 

He turned back again, hair and beard blowing in the breeze. ‘Shall we pay Hagrid a visit? I know he’ll be happy to see you.’ 

‘Yes,’ Harry smiled. ‘Let’s.’


	14. Grimmauld Place

Harry had not stepped foot in the dining room at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Pace since moving in. It was a very grand room with wood panelling and gold chandeliers but years of neglect had made everything dark and dingy. The huge mahogany table, intended to seat up a hundred guests, was covered in a thick layer of dust, its chairs faded and their cushions moth-eaten. 

As soon as Harry had received Dumbledore's letter accepting his invitation to dinner he had dragged Kreacher in there and begged him to clean it up, but Kreacher refused to do anything more than the bare minimum, so Harry was forced to replace all the broken furniture himself and smarten up the place as best he could. Once he had turfed out the last of the doxies from the curtains he went to find his godfather. 

He and Sirius always ate dinner in the kitchen, at a little table by the stove where it was warm and cosy. Harry found him there, curled up in a ball on the tile floor, snout tucked into his belly and tail wrapped around his legs. 

‘Dumbledore’s coming tonight,’ he reminded him. ‘We’re going to eat in the dining room. I’ve just finished getting it ready. Will you change, please?’

Sirius raised his head and regarded him with a weary expression. Then he reared up in a sudden rippling of fur and flesh and transformed back into the tall, broad-shouldered man that Harry knew so well. 

'Do you mean my clothes?' He asked gruffly. ‘Or just my body?’ 

'Your clothes, if you could,' Harry replied. 'I can't remember the last time you changed that shirt.' 

'It has become something of a second skin,' Sirius admitted. ‘Give me a minute.’

He disappeared upstairs and reappeared a few moments later in a clean shirt and trousers. Muggle clothes were his preference, despite his upbringing. It was his habit to shun anything his parents would have approved of and delight in anything they would have detested. 

They both stationed themselves by the fireplace, eyes on the clock, and awaited the arrival of their guest. Dumbledore arrived right on time, brushing the floo powder from his robes. 

Harry hastened to greet him, arms outstretched, and Dumbledore braced him to his chest. Only for a second or two, as was proper for a teacher meeting with a former student. 

'You look well,’ Dumbledore said hopefully. 

‘I am,’ Harry replied. 

Dumbledore took his hands, probing at the smooth skin with his fingertips. Harry was embarrassed by this surreptitious inspection. He knew Dumbledore was checking he had not been wearing his gloves or washing his hands too vigorously. He found himself thinking of the old myths about masturbation though and imagined that Dumbledore was checking for hairs upon his palms. 

‘Come on,’ he said, pulling him forward. ‘Kreacher will be dishing up shortly. We’re having soup to start.’ 

‘To start!’ Sirius growled. ‘However did you convince that toe-rag to cook a three-course meal?’ 

He seemed disgusted. No doubt it reminded him of the fancy dinner parties that his parents used to throw. He reminisced about them bitterly as the wine was poured, how his mother would gossip endlessly about their pureblood friends and his father would talk politics, flattering and fawning over anyone of consequence. 

‘At least you didn’t break out the good cutlery,’ he muttered, prodding at the prongs of his fork. ‘The table used to glow yellow with all that gold. Half a dozen pieces crammed in beside each plate. There was hardly any room left for the guests! I remember once there were six different spoons laid out. Six! Can you believe it?’ 

Harry said nothing. He was annoyed to hear that there was “good” cutlery hidden away somewhere. He had done everything he could to make things nice, transfiguring a bedsheet into a silken tablecloth and folding the napkins into fanciful shapes. He had wanted everything to be perfect for Dumbledore. 

‘I’ve always been a fan of chopsticks,’ Dumbledore mused. ‘One set of utensils for all dishes - soup and stew, vegetables and meat, sweet and savoury. I have a very fine set of ivory chopsticks with a willow pattern carved into them. I use them when travelling.’ 

The conversation then moved to Harry’s recent trips abroad. He had visited Budapest with Hermione and the Weasleys and gone to visit Neville in the Australian rainforest, where he was researching rare plants. 

Sirius, who had no news of his own, said nothing and slurped at his soup. 

‘Charlie is breeding Horntails?’ Dumbledore asked curiously. ‘A very perilous pursuit. I understand they have incredibly violent mating practices.’

‘Yes,’ Harry agreed. ‘In the wild the male almost never survives - the female chokes him too hard during climax - but in captivity the breeders intervene, so most of them get away in time.’ 

Sirius snorted and muttered something like, ‘women!’ He had already had four glasses of wine and gnawed all the meat from his lamb shank. A clean white bone poked out from a shallow pool of gravy. 

After dinner Sirius excused himself, going upstairs to sleep the meal off, and Harry took Dumbledore to the library. Dumbledore hummed appreciatively as he admired all the old books, dancing his fingertips over their spines.

‘An unusual collection,’ he said. ‘Mostly dark titles, of course. Some very interesting histories though. Have you read this?’ 

‘No, I haven’t.’ 

‘Pity.’ 

He turned away and took a seat in a large, winged armchair with velvet cushions. Harry followed like a puppy. 

‘May I sit with you?’

Dumbledore slid to one side but Harry sunk to the floor instead, leaning his head on Dumbledore’s knee. The headmaster did not object. 

‘You make a rather charming pet,’ he commented. ‘Are you thinking of becoming a dog like your godfather?’

Harry smiled. ‘I don’t think I have the patience to become animagus, although it would certainly make things simpler.’ 

‘Simpler is not always better.’

‘True.’ Harry adjusted his position. ‘Thanks for coming tonight. I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too, though I’ve enjoyed reading your letters. I’m glad you’re doing so well.’

Harry smiled sadly. ‘I was as friendly as I could be when I was on holiday. I hugged Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley.’ 

‘That’s wonderful. Was it as hard as you expected it to be?’ 

‘No, not really.’ Harry fidgeted. ‘Anything more than that is still too much for me though.’

‘Are you doing your homework?’ 

‘You mean, jerking off?’ Harry laughed and butted his leg. ‘Yes.’ 

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ 

Harry looked up at him. ‘Could you do more for me?’ 

The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned cold, as if a dementor had just glided in. 

‘I didn’t think you’d need more help,’ Dumbledore said quietly. ‘Not like that, anyway.’ 

‘I didn’t think I would either,’ Harry murmured. ‘What you did for me really helped though and I wish I could confront more of my fears. I want to really move past what happened and come to terms with sex.’

An uncomfortable silence.

‘What exactly would you have me do?’

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes trained on the carpet. It was a deep purple intricately patterned with swirls and swoops of gold, silver and blue. 

‘I want you to do what Voldemort did to me.’

‘No you don’t,’ Dumbledore replied sharply. 

‘Not the bad stuff,’ Harry said quickly. ‘I don’t want you to hurt me. I just want to know what that can be like with someone who cares.’

‘Sex?’ Dumbledore clarified, sounding uneasy.

Harry nodded without looking up. 

‘Why?’ Again, Dumbledore’s tone was sharper than usual. ‘Why would you want that from me?’

‘I don’t know.’ Harry shrank away. ‘It’s hard to explain. It’s like, when Voldemort raped me he was claiming me as his own and I don’t want to be his. I want to be yours.’ 

He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make sense.’ 

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ Dumbledore said softly. ‘Our feelings often don’t make sense, and that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean we should act on our stranger impulses.’ 

He closed his eyes and turned away. 

‘I don’t think we ought to talk about it either.’

Harry was shocked. ‘We talk about everything.’ 

‘This is different. I’m glad I’ve been able to help you through so much of your trauma but this is where it ends. We have to draw a line under it.’

‘Why?’ 

There was a long, long silence. Dumbledore sat as a still as a statue, eyes hooded, for more than a minute. 

‘Why won’t you say anything?’ Harry demanded desperately. 

‘I am trying to choose the right words.’

Dumbledore took a deep breath and then opened his eyes. They were sad and misty, like rainwater on a windowpane. 

‘Attraction is a very important part of sex. Not just because it assists in arousal and desire but because it allows us to lose our inhibitions. When we know that our partner is attracted to us, that they enjoy the sight and feel of our body, we’re able to shed our layers and expose our inner selves. If we don’t have that, it’s just awkward and uncomfortable. We don’t want our partner to see our desire or our pleasure. We know they’ll just find it strange and ridiculous. Disgusting, even.’ 

He leant forward.

‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes,’ Harry mumbled. ‘You’re saying you don’t find me attractive’ 

Dumbledore let out a breath. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying at all, Harry. You’re a very handsome young man. I’m not saying I’m particularly attracted to you. I still see you as something of a child. You’re so much younger than me. No, my point was that _you’re_ not attracted to _me_. You’re not even attracted to men and I’m a very old man.’ 

‘That doesn’t matter to me!’ Harry objected. 

‘It matters to me,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘I wouldn’t be comfortable.’ He looked down at his hands where they sat in his lap, pale and limp. ‘If you wanted - or needed - to experiment with another man then there’s nothing wrong with that. You’ll need to find someone else though. I can’t help you with this.’ 

‘There’s no one else,’ Harry said dully. 

He turned away to hide his face, got up and walked across the room. He came to stand in front of the bookcase, staring at all the rare and unusual books without seeing them at all. 

‘Harry?’ called Dumbledore. ‘Harry?’ When Harry did not respond he grew stern again. ‘It is not fair for you to ask this of me. I have the right to refuse.’ 

Harry knew this was true, but he still couldn’t speak. He was ashamed of how he had acted, of what he had asked for. He knew it was strange and repulsive. It was bad enough that he had already begged Dumbledore to help him masturbate, all but forcing him into the act, and this was a far more obscene request.

He heard Dumbledore aproach but did not turn around. Dumbledore had to grab him by the shoulders and forced him to face him. Then - to Harry’s utter surprise - he leant in and _kissed him_ on the lips!

Harry had never been kissed before and the sensation was overwhelming. Dumbledore’s mouth was very soft and his beard and moustache tickled at Harry’s face and throat. He was still for just a second and then leant in, hooking his arms around Dumbledore’s broad back. He moved his lips slowly - very slowly - tentative as a child. In this area, at least, he was entirely virginal. 

Dumbledore only parted his lips a little as he kissed him, making no attempt to force his tongue. Harry was glad. He had never been that sure about snogging, even before his assault. This was far nicer, more tender and intimate. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had began, it was over. Dumbledore pulled away and - in an almighty crack - dissaparated. Harry blinked dumbly, glancing around the room as if he expected Dumbledore to return, if only to say goodbye, but he did not. He had left him without a word. Alone and very, very confused. 


	15. Covent Garden

  
_Dear Harry, _

_Please forgive me for how I behaved the other night. It was quite wrong. _

_If you still wish to see me I should like to take you out to dinner this Friday, as an apology. If this is agreeable to you, I shall meet you outside St Mungo’s at the end of your shift. _

_Please let me know by return of owl. _

_Yours, most affectionately, _   
_Albus Dumbledore, _

** 

Harry read the note several times, searching for hidden meaning. Dumbledore didn’t say what he was sorry for - for kissing him or running away - or say why he’d done it in the first place. 

He wished he could fill in the blanks, paint the parchment with Zonko’s Revealing Solution and watch the Invisible Ink reappear, but there was nothing more to see. Dumbledore kept his feelings to himself. 

He spent no time at all penning a reply.

**

_Dear Albus, _

_Don’t worry. I wasn’t upset, just confused. _

_I still feel the same, but I won’t pursue the matter any further if you don’t want to. I’m always happy to spend time with you. I can meet outside the Hospital at Six O’Clock. I know a nice Italian place that does great deserts. _

_With love,_   
_Harry_

**

He went through work as usual, attending to bizarre magical injuries. One man came in with a trumpet for a nose, the victim of a terrible transfiguration accident. He honked and squeaked throughout Harry’s examination and then let out an enormous sneeze that made everyone gasp and grab their ears. 

It was quite amusing, really, reminding Harry of Fred and George’s tricks and pranks. He made a mental note to suggest a nose-trumpet candy. If it wasn’t too complicated, they could make a whole marching band range of flavours.

He thought about Dumbledore all day, whenever he had opportunity to let his mind wander. He knew that, in many ways, Dumbledore still saw him as a child, and a troubled child at that, but Harry was a man and he knew his own mind and soul. He wasn’t broken, not really, just ... lonely.

He took his gloves off during his break and chatted happily with the other residents. He had become particularly friendly with a girl name Prudence - a red-haired muggle-born from Beauxbatons. She was bright and easy to talk to, a fellow quidditch fan who played on the weekends. In fact, they’d grown so close that it would’ve been awkward if she didn’t have a boyfriend. Thankfully, she did and he was young and handsome and utterly devoted. 

Harry called Sirius before leaving the hospital to remind him that he wouldn’t be home until late. There were a number of muggle phone booths installed in reception and Harry had set one up at home too, although Sirius had protested. 

It took his godfather a long time to answer. Harry could just imagine him fumbling with the receiver, fingers stiff from misuse.

‘Hello?’ Sirius barked, at last.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ Harry said. ‘Just calling to let you know I’m going out tonight, so please go ahead and have dinner without me.’ He waited for a response. Nothing but dog-like pants. ‘I put something in the fridge for you.’ He added pointedly. 

‘Yeah, right, right.’ Another excruciating pause. ‘A date?’ 

‘No,’ Harry groaned. ‘Just Dumbledore.’ 

‘Again? You only just saw him.’

‘Yeah, well. He thinks I need to get out more.’

‘Alright then. Have fun.’ 

** 

Dumbledore was standing by the door, inspecting his pocket watch. He looked up as Harry approached, snapping the gold case shut.

‘I’m not late, am I?’ Harry asked.

‘Oh no,’ Dumbledore said, with a sheepish smile. ‘I’m early. I was afraid far too early.‘

He smiled wider when he saw how Harry was dressed. Harry had gotten changed before coming out to meet Dumbledore and had opted for traditional robes instead of his usual jumper and jeans. 

‘I love to see you dressed like that.’ He told him. ‘Especially with your long hair. You look like a proper wizard.’ 

‘I am a proper wizard,’ Harry replied indignantly. ‘I fought the Dark Lord Voldemort - more than once - and defeated him, once and for all! If that doesn’t make me a “proper wizard” I don’t know what does!’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Dumbledore chuckled. ‘I know you’re a great and powerful wizard.’ 

‘And a healer in training! That’s not to be sniffed at!’

‘I know.’ Dumbledore’s eyes grew soft. ‘You’ve done so well.’ 

They didn’t talk about the kiss until they reached the restaurant. Harry waited until they had both ordered before bringing it up tentatively. 

‘About the other night - ‘ 

Dumbledore stiffened. 

‘We don’t have to discuss it,’ Harry said quickly, ‘it’s just your letter was so brief.’ He took a big gulp of his wine. ‘I wish I knew how you felt.’

Dumbledore shook his head. ‘My feelings are not easy to articulate. They’re not clear, even to me. You must understand that.’

Harry smiled. ‘I understand you must be conflicted. It’s just ... ‘ He picked up his glass and drained it. ‘Why did you kiss me?’ This was what he wanted to know, above all else. ‘Why?’ 

Dumbledore looked thoroughly ashamed. ‘I can’t explain my actions,’ he told Harry. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’ 

‘Obviously,’ Harry cut in, with a little laugh, hoping to beak the tension. 

Dumbledore barely cracked a smile. ‘I was upset and frustrated,’ he whispered. ‘You were being so infuriating! I didn’t expect you to enjoy it.’ 

Harry’s body went cold. ‘You did it to punish me?’

‘No - Oh, God! No Harry! I would never do that. Especially after everything you’ve been through.’ Dumbledore’s face crumpled. ‘I don’t know why I did it, really I don’t. I told myself that I was proving something to you. Showing you that you didn’t really want what you were asking for.’ 

Harry put one hand to his chest, waited for his breath steady. ‘So ... it was a test?’ He asked. ‘A test I failed by kissing back?’ 

‘You did nothing wrong,’ Dumbledore said firmly. ‘I shouldn’t have done such a thing to you. Honestly, I shouldn’t have. I was out of my mind.’ 

The waiter returned with their starters, providing a much-needed distraction. Harry let the silence stand, picking at his salad and the side of garlic bread. 

‘I’m not upset,’ he said eventually. ‘Even if you didn’t mean it - ‘

‘I didn’t say I didn’t mean it,’ Dumbledore said hastily. ‘I love you very deeply Harry and physically ... well, my feelings are conflicted, as you say, but you’re a very attractive young man.’

Harry felt himself blush. Flattered and pleased, like any boy out on a date. 

‘I don’t mind you fancying me, just a little,’ he told Dumbledore. ‘Honestly, I don’t. It’s nice.’ He picked up a few more lettuce leaves, fork clinking against the plate. ‘You’re not exactly hideous yourself. I know you think I’m put off by your age and - ‘ 

‘And my penis.’

Harry spluttered. ‘No, I’m not even put off by that. Which is good, considering what I’m asking you to do with it.’ He gave Dumbledore a long, hard look. ‘It’s true, you’re not exactly my type. I can’t pretend you’re completely irresistible, but I don’t find you unattractive.’ 

‘Harry - ‘ Dumbledore protested wearily. 

Harry didn’t let him finish. ‘Let’s not argue about it again. You know how I feel. Let’s just enjoy this dinner.’ 

Dumbledore closed his mouth, smiled and nodded. 

They ate in silence for a while and then began again, with light, pleasant conversation. Soon they were chatting away companionably and laughing, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. 

‘You were right,’ Dumbledore exclaimed, as he tucked into his tiramisu. ‘This is delicious. We should come here again.’ 

**

The cold was biting when they stepped outside. Dumbledore put an arm about Harry to shield him from the wind. Harry cuddled up against the old man, snaking one hand into the folds of his thick, fur-lined cape. It was wonderfully cosy.   
  


‘This was nice,’ Dumbledore sighed. ‘I should like to make it a regular arrangement.’   
  


‘I would too,’ Harry said, cuddling closer. ‘Let’s do it. Same time next week?’ 

  
‘It’s a date.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one is impatient for the next love scene. I assure you it is coming in the next chapter. I just wanted to make sure they had something of a resolution so they both have time to think things over.


	16. Westminster Cathedral

  
‘We’re in time for mass,’ Dumbledore noted cheerfully, as they passed by Westminster Cathedral. ‘Would you like to attend?’

Harry had done an earlier shift that day so they had time to burn before dinner. Harry looked curiously at Dumbledore, unsure if he was joking.

‘Alright,’ he said. ‘If you want to?’

Dumbledore smiled wide. ‘It’s a beautiful cathedral,’ he told Harry, as he led him in, one hand at the small of his back. ‘Have you visited before?’

‘No,’ Harry confessed.

‘Have you ever been to church before? When you were younger?’

‘No,’ Harry said again. ‘Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never went to church, except on special occasions - Christenings, Weddings, Funerals, that sort of thing - and they always left me behind for those. Didn’t want me there, embarrassing them. Mucking things up.’

Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic look. 

‘Was your family very religious then?’ Harry asked.

‘No, not particularly. They celebrated the major Pagan and Christian holidays, as most witches and wizards do, but didn’t pray or attend church. I suspect my mother had stronger beliefs than my father, though she kept them to herself.

They sat down at the back and waited for the service to begin. The hall was surprisingly full, with a great number of faithful worshippers.

‘I have a great affinity with the Catholic Church,’ Dumbledore confided, in a whisper. ‘The beautiful architecture, the mysticism, the long flowing robes ... I feel quite at home here.’

‘Not to mention, the Catholic guilt,’ Harry said wryly. 

‘Quite so,’ Dumbledore said, chuckling. ‘My sense of guilt and thirst for redemption is very Catholic.’

‘Have you ever been to confession?’ Harry asked him. 

‘Once, when I was younger. You’re not supposed to though, if you’re not Catholic, and so I felt rather guilty about that too.’ 

Harry laughed. 

‘Did the confession make you feel better?’ 

‘Oh yes, confession is good for the soul, but only once every hundred years. True Catholics are expected to confess new sins each week and I don’t think any man has that much to atone for.’ 

‘They would have to be pretty small things, too,’ Harry commented. ‘If you’re bringing them up each week.’ 

‘Oh yes. Cruel thoughts. Masturbation. Gambling. That sort of thing. Nothing I would call truly bad or harmful.’

Harry thought he knew all about the Christian faith from his primary school assemblies, but found the readings completely alien. Nether the less, he appreciated the poetic language and the beautiful imagery. 

At one point the priest said something about Mass being for both the living and the dead, which really resonated with Harry. He liked the idea of a church being a place where the dead and the living could come together; A bridge between the two worlds. It was open to all souls - except for Voldemort’s, for he was neither truly living or dead, imprisoned as he was in his blank, empty cell. 

Dumbledore seemed uncomfortable when the priest said they were all sinners in need of God’s mercy. He kept looking at Harry meaningfully, to let him know it wasn’t true. Harry understood well enough. Dumbledore had always been keen to emphasise that Harry was good person who had done nothing wrong. 

‘Do we take communion?’ Harry asked when the priest invited the congregation to do so. ‘We shouldn’t, should we?’ 

‘Why? Are you worried it’ll spoil our dinner?’ Dumbledore teased. ‘There’s no reason we can’t, if you would like to?’ 

Harry found that he did, although he felt unworthy. He liked the idea of communing with God in a physical way. There was something reassuringly visceral about the sacrament. Prayer had always struck him as a vague, empty thing. This, however, felt real. 

**

‘I really like rituals,’ Harry told Dumbledore, as they sat down for dinner. ‘They’re important, don’t you think?’ 

‘Certainly,’ Dumbledore said mildly. ‘Abstract concepts are very difficult for humans to grasp. We’re physical beings and need something concrete to latch on. Something to see, smell and touch. The spiritual and the sensual and intimately connected.’

‘That’s just what I think,’ Harry said eagerly. ‘At least, er, I think it is. It can’t always tell what you mean. You use use such odd words.’ 

Dumbledore laughed. ‘You’re teasing me. I know I’m a terrible old windbag. You must forgive me for waffling on.’ 

‘No, that’s not what I said. I love to hear you talk.’ 

They discussed the mass in detail as they worked their way through their starter and main. Dumbledore explained the context of the readings and told Harry many more stories from the Old Testament.

‘You know such a lot about the bible,’ Harry commented, ‘considering you’re not religious.’ 

‘Well, the bible is a book,’ Dumbledore said smilingly, ‘and I always read books, cover to cover, and remember all I’ve read.’ 

Their deserts arrived - Dumbledore’s favourite part of the meal - and they each started picking at cherries and licking cream from their spoons. 

‘It was a sort of ritual you wanted, wasn’t it?’ Dumbledore asked. ‘When you asked if I would take you to bed with me.’ 

Harry smiled. ‘I don’t think that’s how I put it, but yes. I did want something like that.’ He wiped his mouth clean. ‘I still want that.’ 

Dumbledore looked very solemn, which was quite an achievement with a half-eaten sundae in front of him. ‘A structured ritual is rather at odds with the unrestrained intimacy of sex.’

‘I don’t think so. What about the wedding night? The traditional wedding night, I mean. Like you read about in books. Dressing up specially and praying by the bed.’

‘Is that what you’d like?’ 

Harry hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes. I think so. I like the idea of it being all strict and structured. You know I prefer to stay dressed and all that. I also like the idea of it being like a magic ritual with candles and incantations.’ 

Dumbledore smiled sadly. ‘You want it to be a counter-curse, to undo what was done. The inverse of Voldemort’s resurrection.’ 

‘You understand me so well.’

They finished their deserts in silence then Dumbledore reached across the table and took his hand. 

‘I do try,’ he said. ‘To understand you. To give you what you need.’ 

Harry smiled.

‘If you wanted, you could come back with me tonight,’ Dumbledore suggested. We could have a few drinks back at Hogwarts and talk some more.’ 

Harry frowned back at him. ‘Do you mean ... to stay the night?’ 

Dumbledore’s grip tightened. ‘If you wish to.’ 

‘I would,’ said Harry. ‘If you’re sure ?’ 

‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since you asked me.’ Dumbledore sighed. ‘I’m as sure as I’ll ever be.‘

Harry shivered. ‘Sirius won’t mind. He won’t even notice I’m gone. And I’m not in work tomorrow until the evening.’ 

Dumbledore withdrew his hand and grabbed for his cloak. ‘Then, shall we?’ 


	17. The Ritual

Dumbledore opened up a bottle of Oak-Matured Mead and poured Harry a small glass. 

‘Not too much,’ he advised. ‘You already had wine at dinner.’ 

‘Don’t you want to get me drunk?’ Harry joked.

‘I’d like you to be comfortable,’ Dumbledore replied. ‘Not incapacitated.’ 

So Harry drank slowly and sparingly, swirling the rich, sweet liquor round in the goblet.

‘Will you wait here while I get things ready?’ Dumbledore asked. ‘I’ll just be a moment.’ 

‘Sure,’ Harry said, wondering what preparations Dumbledore might be making. 

‘I just want to make everything nice for you,’ Dumbledore explained, caressing Harry’s cheek.

Harry leant into Dumbledore’s touch. ‘Like a ritual?’ 

‘Yes. If I can manage it.’ 

Harry waited patiently in Dumbledore’s office, sipping his mead and admiring all the headmaster’s books and ornaments.

Dumbledore returned before long, in flowing white robes, with his hair loose about his shoulders and his beard sparkling in the candlelight.

‘I thought this would be appropriate,’ he said, shaking out his billowing sleeves. ‘I have one for you too, if you approve?’ 

He produced a second set of robes. Like Dumbledore’s, they were clean, new cotton, with a little silk and lace at the collar and sleeves. Tiny pearl buttons fastened the fabric at the back, like a woman’s dress. 

‘Yes, thank you.’ Harry said, pulling it on. ‘It’s very ... . pretty. Do you think it suits me?’ 

‘Yes,’ Dumbledore said, helping him straighten the collar. ‘You look lovely. I thought you would be naked underneath, though. When we go up. It would make things easier if you don’t want to undress.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Harry fidgeted. ‘I was going to. I just didn’t want to with you here.’ 

‘Naturally,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘I’ll leave you alone to get ready. There’s just one more thing I wanted to give you. A small gift.’

He went over to the mantelpiece and retrieved a slim black box. 

‘Jewellery?’ Harry asked. 

Dumbledore looked bashful. ‘I know it’s terribly sentimental, and I expect it might not be to your taste?’ 

Harry didn’t know how to answer. He’d never gone a bundle on jewellery. Dressy wizard robes were one thing, but jewellery and accessories were quite another. He opened up the box gingerly and then raised his eyes to Dumbledore’s. 

‘A key?’ 

‘I wanted something symbolic,’ said Dumbledore. ‘For love and security. It could also stand for home and family, though. It was the key to your parents home. I shrank it down and turned it to silver. I hope you like it?’

Harry couldn’t speak. The key was small and simple, thread on a long silver chain. Dumbledore lifted it out gently and hung it about Harry’s neck. It glittered brightly at his chest, like a talisman. 

‘It’s not too fussy,’ Dumbledore continued. ‘And it hangs low, so you could hide it under your clothes if you wanted to. Or, if you prefer, you could just take it off and put it somewhere safe, as a keepsake.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Harry breathed. ‘I can’t believe you went to all this trouble.’ 

‘I was going to save it for a special occasion,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘Your debut as a fully-qualified healer, or you birthday, but well ... it seemed right to give it to you now.’ 

This is a special occasion, Harry thought, though he did not say it. He didn’t want to scare Dumbledore off. The old man was nervous enough as it was. He closed his fingers around the little key, the cold metal reassuringly hard and solid. Then he rose up on his toes and gave his mentor a kiss. 

Just on the cheek at first, which - to be fair - was mostly beard anyway, and then lightly on the lips. Dumbledore stood very still, not returning the kiss, but not stopping Harry either. His mouth was very cool and dry, making the gesture seem more ceremonial than erotic. 

‘I’ll leave you now,’ Dumbledore said, pulling away gently. ‘So you can change properly. Take your time and come up when you’re ready.’

‘Alright,’ Harry croaked, his throat quite dry. ‘I won’t be long.’ 

**

The bedroom was dimly illuminated by a handful of thin, wax candles. Dumbledore was sat in his easy chair, waiting for Harry, two goblets sat on the table beside him. 

‘What’s this?’ Harry asked. ‘Not more alcohol!’

The goblets where smoking slightly with the tell-tale steam of a freshly-brewed potion. 

‘_Augmetitia_; An empathy potion.’ 

‘Ah,’ Harry breathed.

‘You’ve heard of it?’ 

‘They sometimes use at the hospital to help diagnose strange illnesses. It’s easier if you can tell exactly what a patient’s feeling.’

‘I see.’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘Well, this is a very mild brew. Strong enough to allow us to sense each other’s feelings, but not so strong as to be disorientating. I want to be sure that you’re enjoying what we do. If we take the potion you won’t need to tell me if you’re feeling uncomfortable and I won’t need to ask. It can be quite difficult to speak up during sex, even with someone you trust.’ 

He picked up a slim silver knife and balanced it his hands.

‘It’s your decision, of course. If you wish to try it though, we just need to add a couple of drops of blood to the potion.’

Harry laughed nervously. ‘You really have thought of everything.’

He held out his hand. ‘Go on then.’ 

Dumbledore pricked the tip of his finger and let a single drop of blood drip into the nearest goblet. Then he brought the knife to his own hand and spilt his own blood in the same way.

‘Now we drink.’ 

The potion was hot and tingled all the way down, making Harry’s skin prickle and his hair stand on end. 

‘How long does it take to work?’ Harry asked. 

‘Just a moment,’ Dumbledore advised. ‘Lend me your hand once more.’ 

He traced the lines on Harry’s palm with his fingertips. Slowly, Harry began to perceive an extra tickling upon his skin. An echo of the sensation. 

Harry moved his hand to Dumbledore’s face and stroked along the man’s wrinkles. This time, he felt the echo in the other direction, along with a alien twinge of discomfort. 

‘You’re embarrassed!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘Don’t be. I love the lines on your face.’ 

He followed the deep creases down Dumbledore’s cheeks and combed through the length of his beard.

‘This is queer though!’ He exclaimed, with a burble of laughter. ‘I never thought I’d feel what it’s like to have three feet of beard.’

‘Or to have a handsome young man playing with it,’ Dumbledore put in, making Harry laugh louder.

‘I like this,’ He declared, taking Dumbledore’s hands and twining their fingers together. ‘Such a clever idea.’ 

‘Well, I don’t mean to boast, but I am an exceptionally clever man,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Do you wish to go to bed now?’

‘Yes. Let’s.’ 

The bed was pleasantly cool, with fresh cotton sheets and a silken comforter. Everything was brilliant white; as pure as now. 

They lay down together, side by side, their hands spanning the gap. Fingers danced over flesh, brushing out fine hairs and tickling at freckles and moles. It felt nice and safe, as if they were two giggling children playing together. 

‘Would you touch me properly,’ Harry asked shyly. ‘Like you did before. Play with me.’ 

‘On the inside?’ Dumbledore asked.

‘Inside and out,’ Harry replied. ‘Please. You’re so good at it.’ 

Dumbledore smiled and reached for his wand. Moments later, Harry was trembling on his back, legs parted and robes rucked up. 

He could feel Dumbledore’s excitement underneath his own, hungrier and needier than he had expected, but no more frightening for that. He completely in control, guarding against distress and discomfort.

‘You’re so gentle,’ Harry breathed; a reassurance that was utterly unnecessary. Dumbledore knew precisely what he was feeling. 

‘Just relax, Harry,’ Dumbledore whispered, in reply. ‘Let me take care of you.’ 

These were the right words to set Harry’s mind at ease. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the pleasure, riding the waves that roared through his body.

‘Wait!’ He gasped. ‘I’m getting too close.’ 

‘Don’t you want to finish?’ Dumbledore asked.

‘Not like this. I want us to finish together and you’re not even touching yourself.’ 

He found Dumbledore’s face in the darkness. ‘I know you’re scared,’ he said, for he could feel the fear rolling off of him, ‘but I know it’ll be alright.’

Dumbledore kissed him back, his lips warm now against Harry’s face. ‘It should be me reassuring you, my sweet boy. My darling, tender creature. I can feel exactly what you want.’ 

Harry held his breath, wondering if Dumbledore would try and put words to the feeling, and if he did, whether they would be the same words that Harry would have chosen. Language could be such a clumsy, stunted thing, and emotions terribly complex and muddled. 

‘It is what everyone wants.’ Dumbledore told him. ‘Especially those who have been lonely, and unloved, and hurt so badly - as you have.’ A pause. ‘And I have.’ 

Then Dumbledore kissed him properly on the lips, pressing his body against his. He slid up Harry’s robes to expose his erection and then pulled up his own, so they were skin to skin. 

Harry both wanted this and didn’t. He was quite excited by the idea of being taken by Dumbledore, but was somehow revolted by the feel of him. He kept his eyes shut tight, even as they parted, not wanting to see anything down below. He tried not to imagine the shape of Dumbledore’s manhood.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, aware that Dumbledore had a window onto all these thoughts. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to. I do - I still do. It’s just that I can’t bear to - ‘

He had no words to explain.

‘You just want to have sex,’ Dumbledore interpreted. ‘As cleanly, and neatly as possible?’

Harry tried to sort out his thoughts. ‘I don’t think I can play with you, or - or blow you, or anything like that.’ 

Even saying it made his insides squirm and the ghastly image of Voldemort’s swollen, purple penis flashed, unbidden, into his mind. He remembered what it had felt like to have it forced into his mouth and the rotten taste of it. The pain as his mouth blistered. 

His erection wilted and he shrunk away from Dumbledore. He needed space. He needed cool sheets and the steady beat of his own heart. 

‘Oh Harry!’ Dumbledore exclaimed. ‘I didn’t realise!’ Harry had never told him that particular detail before. He’d been too ashamed. 

Dumbledore stroked tenderly at his hair and rubbed at his arms and back until Harry started to feel comfortable again, his panic subsiding. Dumbledore kept his body arched away, so that all Harry felt was his warm, wrinkled hands and his breath on his face.

He kissed him softly, on his lips, cheek and throat. He buried his beard into Harry’s collarbone and kissed at the sensitive skin there. This was very effective, making Harry’s groin throb pleasantly, his erection picking up.

‘Don’t worry,’ Dumbledore murmured. ‘We can arrange things very carefully so that you feel all the pleasure without being aware of it’s instrument.’ 

Harry thought that sounded wonderful, although entirely impossible. 

‘Lie back again,’ Dumbledore instructed, and Harry obeyed. 

Dumbledore extinguished all the candles and resumed his ministrations upon Harry’s nether regions, easing in a third and forth finger and sending tremors of magic shooting through Harry’s body.

‘That’s it, darling,’ Dumbledore whispered, as Harry shuddered and groaned. ‘That’s nice.’ He was drinking up Harry’s pleasure, like a vampire drinking blood.

Harry hardly registered it when Dumbledore moved on top of him, positioning himself between his legs. If it hadn’t been for the potion, he might not have noticed at all. He could sense the old man’s excitement though, and his need, and his fear. He wanted Harry badly, and was afraid to want him so much. Afraid of hurting him. 

‘Don’t think about your body too much,’ Dumbledore whispered. ‘Imagine we are two souls floating in a void.’ Magic sparked inside Harry, lighting up his nerves. ‘Beings of pure emotion.’

Harry shivered. He reached out in the darkness and a hand grasped his own. Harry held tight and their fingers intertwined. Dumbledore put his other hand to his waist, as if they were dancing, and adjusted his position.

Harry gasped and flinched at the moment of penetration, but Dumbledore held him fast until the shock subsided, and then they settled into a smooth, easy rhythm. 

‘I want to share my pleasure with you,’ Dumbledore whispered. 

Harry shuddered and closed his eyes. ‘Tell me you love me,’ he whispered or perhaps, only thought. He didn’t need to speak out loud. ‘Please.’

‘I love you, Harry. So much.’

‘Tell me I’m yours.’ 

‘You’re my boy. My sweet, precious boy. Always.’ 

It didn’t take long, after that. Harry gasped and jerked like a fish thrown ashore and Dumbledore groaned and fell still. They were both panting, hands still locked, minds entangled. 

It took a long time for Harry to come back to himself. When he did, he was embarrassed by the wet patch on his robes and the sweat soaking into the bed.

‘I’m a mess!’ He groaned. 

‘No. You’re perfect.’

Dumbledore dried the sheets and lay down beside Harry. 

‘The potion’s wearing off,’ he commented, stroking his hair. ‘I expect we pushed it to its limits, with that ... explosion.’ 

Harry would have giggled, had he the energy. 

‘It was good,’ he said eventually. ‘You made it good.’ A long, deep breath escaped his lungs. ‘I’m so glad I did it.’ He scrabbled beneath the sheets. ‘Could we - ?’

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Dumbledore had his arms open, ready to receive him. 


	18. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the inconsistent tone. This chapter is from Albus’s POV for a change!

Albus admired Harry’s profile, framed by the stone and iron arch of his office window. He’d seen him sat there many times over the years, but never before in this light. Literally, and figuratively. The pure, dawn sun highlighted every angle of his face and made his skin glow. His raven curls glistened at his shoulders and there was a glimmer of short, sharp bristles on his chin. He’d grown so much in the past couple of years. No longer the soft, scrawny little boy he used to be. He’d become a young man with firm, hard edges. 

His smile was still the same though. Sweet and sincere, with a slight slant to the brow.

‘Fawkes keeps nipping at my fingers,' he said.

It was true. The phoenix sat in Harry's lap kept pecking at Harry and nuzzling into his armpits. 

'You must smell like me,' Albus said, embarrassed by the idea. 

'Oh,' said Harry, embarrassed too. 

Fawkes was the only one not embarrassed. He chriped happily, unconcerned as any animal with human inhibitions. Sometimes Albus envied the phoenix. 

'Shall we have breakfast?' He suggested.

'Where?' 

'In here, if you like? We needn't go down to the Great Hall. We’re a little late for that anyway.' 

He summoned Dobby, the House-elf and asked him to bring up some pastries and pumpkin juice. Dobby was delighted and brought not only croissants and juice, but tea, coffee, cake and fruit, and several different types of jam. 

'Is there anything else I can get you, Harry Potter, Sir?' He gabbled excitedly. 'It is so wonderful to see you here. Will you perhaps be staying for lunch? I can make you something special! Anything you like!' 

'Er - ' Harry glanced at Albus. 'I don't think so, Dobby, but thanks anyway. This looks great.' 

'You can stay as long as you want,' Albus assured him, once Dobby had gone. 

'You're not too busy?' 

'It's the weekend,' Albus reminded him. 'I have nothing important to do.' He spread raspberry jam on his croissant. ‘Of course I'll understand if you prefer to go home. Sirius may be missing you.' 

Harry shook his head. 'No, he won't mind. Thank you.' 

They sat in silence for a while, eyes dancing over each other’s faces. Everything was delicious and it felt very festive to be eating in the office. Albus had produced the furniture and Dobby had thoughtfully furnished them with a tablecloth and silverware and little napkins twisted into bows. As a finishing touch, he'd even put a vase at its centre with a single long-stemmed rose. 

'It's quite romantic,' Harry remarked, noticing where Albus was looking. 'You don't think he knows, do you?' 

'I doubt it,' Albus replied. 'House-elves have a very practical attitude to sex. They only think about it in terms of beds that need to be made and sheets that need to be washed.'

Harry grimaced. 

'Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I re-made our bed perfectly so there isn’t any need for additional housekeeping.’

'Oh. Good.'

Harry took a big gulp of tea. 

'It's not that I'm ashamed or anything.' 

'No, but It's natural to be private. Especially with an arrangement like this.'

'Arrangement?' Harry repeated, sitting up straight. 'Do we have an arrangement?’

'I'm sorry, was that insensitive? I am not sure what to call this.' He inclined his head at Harry. ‘It’s so unorthodox.’ 

'No, it’s fine,’ Harry replied. ‘It’s just you made it sound like it was an ongoing arrangement. _Present tense._ I thought this would be a one-off.' 

He looked so flustered, with his flushed face and wild hair. James had never looked like that, with all his arrogance and bravado. Lily neither, for she too had a steady confidence. Harry’s expressions were all his own. So naked and earnest and true. Albus had many friends, allies and accomplices, but there was no one he knew as well, or trusted as deeply as Harry. 

He had delved inside his head, borne witness to his deepest and darkest secrets, and held his beating heart in his hand. Still, there were parts of him which remained unknown. Thoughts that were unarticulated, feelings that were obscured. Even with a lover, the soul was an impossible thing to map.

‘I didn’t think you would want to repeat the experience.’

‘I didn’t think you would,’ Harry said. ‘Although, you enjoyed it, didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ Albus admitted. ‘You know I did.’ 

‘And I did too.’ 

Harry began fumbling with his napkin, smoothing out the creases with the tips of his nails. 

‘I never thought I’d want to be with a man in any way. Let alone like that. If you’d told me, as a kid, what I’d end up doing right now, I would never have believed it.’ 

‘Thankfully I am not in the habit of prophesizing the inevitable seduction of my underage students.’ 

Harry laughed. ‘I know this was just as unplanned and unexpected for you. It was good though. Not just the sex. The intimacy.’

A knife twisted in Albus’s heart.

‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘Sex can provide not only pleasure and satisfaction, but comfort and closeness. I am glad that we were able to experience that together.’ 

Two emerald eyes shone up at him. 

‘You don’t want to repeat that sort of communion?’ 

Albus made his body a statue. 

‘If we were to continue with this arrangement I would need to be quite certain of what you want. Is it experimentation?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘And comfort?’

‘Yes.’ 

Albus leant back in his chair and surveyed Harry seriously, as he had done so many times when Harry was still his student. 

‘You know how deeply I care for you, Harry. It is a privilege to play the part of your lover. You are not like me, though. Your natural inclination is towards women. Wouldn’t it be better to try and find a female partner?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Not right now. Maybe later.’ 

‘You’re still not ready for a full relationship?’ 

‘No, not yet.’

Albus looked at Harry’s bright face, shining with innocence and knew he ought to refuse, but he prospect of holding the young man so close again was just too tempting. He felt guilty for taking pleasure in the shape of Harry’s body, in the smoothness of his skin and the tightness of his muscles, but Harry was just so beautiful - inside and out. 

‘Well, I don’t see any point in arguing, you’ll only wear me down eventually. You can be rather persistent when it comes to this. When you do eventually decide to pursue a relationship, I pity any woman who tries to turn you down.’

Harry laughed. 


	19. Duet

Dumbledore was lying on the floor when Harry arrived. Sprawled out on his belly like a teenager, reading a book. He jumped up when the fire flared, a smile spreading across his face. 

‘Harry! I didn’t expect you tonight.’

‘I hope it’s not a bad time?’ Harry asked as he stepped out of the grate.

‘Not at all. You’re welcome any time.’

Harry glanced down at the book Dumbledore had been reading. No, not a book - a folio of sheet music. 

‘Anything good?’ He asked, stopping down and squinting at the notes.

Dumbledore hummed. ‘Quite. It’s rather modern. I can play it, if you like?’

‘Please.’ 

Dumbledore flicked his wand and the sheets fluttered through the air like large, white birds. They settled themselves into the stand atop the piano and the keys began to ripple. Harry listened with interest. 

‘I like it,’ he decided. 

‘I’ll leave it playing. Shall we sit down. Or ... would you like to go straight to bed? Not to sound eager. It’s just it’s late. I imagine you must be tired.’

‘A little,’ Harry admitted. ‘I’d like to lie down.’

Dumbledore escorted him to the bed in a swirl of red silk. He was dressed in a gold nightdress and scarlet dressing gown. Gryffindor colours, and the royal plumage of a Phoenix. Harry grasped for the material absently, running it through his fingers as they lay down together.

‘I feel underdressed, even though you’re the one in your night things,’ he joked. ‘I would have changed but I came straight from work.’ 

He was wearing one of his old, comfortable jumpers and jeans. Underneath just one layer of undershirt and underwear. 

‘You look adorable,’ Dumbledore told him. 

Harry smiled, leant in close. ‘Will you kiss me?’ 

Dumbledore complied. Long, gentle closed-mouth kisses that made Harry feel safe and loved. He sighed against the headmaster’s lips, breath rustling his beard. The lilting piano music was filling his ears and sending him into a dreamy trance. 

Dumbledore caressed his hair, his shoulders and his back. All lovely, tender touches. Then, unexpectedly, his fingers swept underneath his jumper, hot against his belly, shoving the fabric up. Harry stiffened and clamped his mouth shut. 

‘Sorry,’ Dumbledore said, pulling back. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. I know you don’t like to be undressed.’

‘It’s okay.’ Harry glanced down at himself shyly. ‘I know my body isn’t ... bad. I’m not angry or ashamed of it. It’s just ... it’s mine.’

‘Yes, yours entirely,’ Dumbledore agreed. ‘Yours to keep covered and private, and yours to share if you wish to.’ He rubbed at Harry’s shoulder, one of his “safe areas.” ‘When you’re ready.’ 

Harry stared at Dumbledore. ‘You must think I’m mad. I - I let you have sex with me. Beg you to, in fact, but I won’t let you look at me naked.’ 

‘We all must draw our boundaries where they are needed.’ Dumbledore combed Harry’s hair behind his ears, as was his habit. ‘You have been incredibly brave with me. Let me share in your emotions, touch you on the inside, arouse and please you. That was hard for you and you could only do it if there were certain conditions.’ 

Harry let out a breath. ‘I feel stupid. I know I’m not doing what I’m supposed to be doing.’

‘What are you supposed to be doing?’ Dumbledore asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘Not bedding your old headmaster in the first place, I expect.’ 

Harry couldn’t smile. ‘I made you ... _fuck me_ in the dark. I would even touch you or look at you. Even after you said all that stuff about attraction. I know you found it hard. I felt your shame.’

‘It was not so terrible, Harry!’ Dumbledore said. ‘I understood why. You are not attracted to men and after what Voldemort did to you ... ‘ 

He trailed off, no doubt thinking of the images he’d accidentally witnessed. The evil old man forcing himself into Harry’s mouth. Lily’s protection - turned to a curse by dark magic - making the assault literal torture. 

‘It is completely understandable that you would have an aversion to the male member after that For you, it’s something that hurt you. Made you sick.’

‘I don’t want to feel that way.’ Harry pulled away from Dumbledore and brought his hands to his eyes. ‘I want to move past this. All of this.’ 

Dumbledore laughed. ‘Harry, I keep telling you this is not something to overcome. You don’t need to worship the penis! You were never meant to be a fan.’ He rolled closer. ‘You’re a lover of women. You don’t ever need to touch a man like that.’ 

‘But what about you?’ Harry asked, agonised. ‘I asked you to act like a lover to me. How can I accept all this ... all this .... well, _everything_ if I won’t be like a lover back. I made you perform it like a ritual. With rules and restrictions.’ 

‘You didn’t make me do anything, young man,’ Dumbledore said with mock-severity. ‘You pestered me, certainly, over the course of several months, but you never forced me. I chose to give you what you wanted. Because I love you.’ 

He leant in and kissed Harry playfully. A quick, gentle peck, followed by a longer kiss. Harry melted, his body unbending for Albus. His fingers curled at the edge of the old man’s collar and then slid inside to explore soft flesh and fine hairs. The headmaster was built like an antique instrument with hardwood and bone and delicate strings. 

‘I don’t want to hold back from you,’ Harry said when they parted. ‘I want to be open with everything. I want to ... give.’ 

He frowned deep, wrestling with the monster inside him, then dragged his jumper up.

Dumbledore’s hands caught his own. 

‘You don’t owe me anything, Harry. I am so grateful for all you have given me. I told you, that touching is a gift. It is all ... a great gift you have given me.’ 

Harry met his eyes. ‘I know. And now ... I want to give you another gift.’ 

Dumbledore stared at him for a few seconds then released his hands. Harry took a deep breath and continued. The silver key glittered against the white of his chest as the smooth skin was exposed.

It was not quite as white or as smooth as it had been in that night in the graveyard. There was a thin trail of hair down Harry’s chest that split him in two; so even that it might have been a dissection line on a medical diagram. His pecks had hardened and broadened and his hips re-alligned. His body had, in short, matured and he was now pretty much as expected to be the rest of his life. A man, fully-formed. 

His heart was pounding in his chest as he reached down to undo his jeans. Once again, Dumbledore tried to stop him, to assure him that this was unnecessary, but Harry insisted. 

‘I want to. For you.’ 

He pulled down his underwear and kicked off his jeans, revealing fuzzy legs and crotch, his penis limp from fear. His socks peeled off by themselves, magic crackling through the cotton. He lay back, naked for his friend and mentor. A sacrifice ready for the cutting. 

Dumbledore gazed at him in wonder. A pink tongue darting through the white of his beard to moisten his lips.

‘You’re ... beautiful.’ 

Harry resisted the urge to curl inward like a welk. ‘Voldemort called me “pretty,”’ he whispered. ‘It made me feel so ... small, so weak.’ 

Dumbledore stroked his arm, little hairs bristling in response. ‘He did not see you as you were. He did not see your soul.’ 

‘I was small, though,’ Harry protested. ‘I was weak.’ A mollusk scooped out of its shell, soft and slippery and slowly dying. 

‘You were just a boy,’ Dumbledore said, ‘not yet grown. He was a man with powerful supporters. Just because he was stronger, does not make you weak. You were always so brave, so determined and so talented.’ 

Harry shivered. ‘Am I ... different now, though?’ He risked another glance down at himself, at the coarse hair and long, thick limbs. ‘I’m a man now but I don’t feel any different.’ 

‘You were always more of a man than he was,’ Dumbledore said quietly. ‘Inside, he was a selfish, child who never took responsibility for his actions. You are the survivor. You are strong.’ He touched Harry’s chest gingerly. ‘You are ... handsome, if you prefer.’

His lips twisted. ‘I only said “beautiful” because ... I prefer beautiful men. Smooth lines and soft features. Long, luxurious hair.’ He made a show of seeping a handful of white hair over his shoulder. 

Harry giggled nervously. ‘You too, then,’ he demanded. 

Dumbledore hesitated. ‘I am no spring chicken. More like a shrivelled old Turkey.’

‘I don’t mind. Honestly.’

Dumbledore nodded gently. ‘Very well. I suppose “fair’s fair” ....’ He slipped his dressing gown off his shoulders and drew his nightdress down slowly. The body that was revealed was white and wrinkled and covered in small freckles and uneven patches of silver hair. 

‘I am not unlike you in ... modesty. It must have been - oh - seventy years since I undressed for anyone. No one likes to be naked.’ 

Harry reached out a trembling hand and touched the downy hair on Dumbledore’s stomach. Crooked, like his nose, and thicker than Harry’s.

‘I know I’m not handsome,’ Dumbledore whispered. ‘Not anymore. I was pretty enough, in my youth but my looks faded fast.’ 

‘You’re you,’ Harry said softly. ‘That’s enough.’ 

‘And you’re you.’ 

They wound their bodies together, the comforter sliding across their shoulders. Harry tilted his head and kissed Dumbledore mouth. His beard was in his face, as soft and heavy as another blanket, safely cocooning him. 

‘My darling boy.’ 

They touched each other. Tentatively, at first, then with increasing familiarity. Harry held the heat of the old man in his fist and stroked with purpose, up and down. He did not have the courage to do what Dumbledore did to him with his fingers. He had to stick to old-fashioned fondling. 

‘Is this enough?’ He asked guiltily. 

‘More than enough.’

They rocked and rubbed against each other like horny teenagers and panted into each other’s shoulders. Soon, they were bucking and gasping, climaxing within seconds of each other. 

‘That’s good,’ Dumbledore sighed. ‘So good, Harry.’

Harry shivered at the praise and kissed the old man’s face. ‘I do love you, Albus.’ 

‘I love you too, Harry. Always.’


	20. Interlude

  
There was someone else in the Library. Severus could see their candlelight flickering through the stacks. He scowled and advanced, shielding his own light with his hand. 

Who on earth could it be at this time? Surely not a student. The light was coming from one of the study tables and it seemed unlikely that anyone could be that eager to do their homework. Some students might sneak down late at night and try and break into the restricted section, but the books had their own defences against and no alarm had been sounded. 

Unbidden, Severus’s thoughts strayed to Potter, who’d always had a nasty habit of sneaking out of bed at night and causing trouble. Just like his good for nothing father or, perhaps, even worse. He’d been found in the Library more than once, reading up on obscure spells and curses. But Harry was gone now, so it must be an entirely new troublemaker.

It was unlikely to be a teacher, although they had a perfect right to wander the school at night. Only Severus woke up in the middle of the night, his mind troubled with unhappy memories, to stalk empty corridors until he was too tired to think. 

The Headmaster might stay up until the early hours of the morning, but he had his own library of books to read when unable to sleep. He he kept to his office, far away from prying eyes, his private pain kept private. 

Severus steeled himself for a confrontation, rounded the corner and bore down on the miscreant.

He reeled back in shock when he saw _Harry Potter _there, again, in the Hogwarts Library. Out of bed, after hours. It was like some sort of ghastly apparition. A ghost from his past returned to haunt him, right when he was at his weakest. 

Harry jumped too, when he saw him, his eyes going wide. He stared at Severus as if he was the one that was out of place here. 

‘Mr Potter,’ Severus said, as soon as he regained his voice. ‘Could you explain to me what exactly you are doing here in the middle of the night? I had the impression that you graduated several years ago.’

Harry smiled sheepishly and pushed a lock of hair behind one ear. Annoyingly, he had grown it out past his shoulders into a messy mane of black curls. It was now longer than Severus’s, though nowhere near as long as the Headmaster’s. Yet, there was _something_ about the boy that was reminding him of Albus Dumbledore in this moment. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

‘I’m visiting,’ said Harry, as if it were actually that simple.

Severus’s lip curled. ‘I see. The great Harry Potter thinks he can just wander into this school whenever the fancy takes him. Is this not supposed to be a secure location? Speak, Potter. How did you get here?’

Harry’s strange smile widened. ‘Floo powder,’ he said. ‘I’m just visiting the headmaster.’ 

An attempt was made to straighten out his face, like an unobliging wrinkle in dress robes that would not yield to a simple flattening charm. 

‘He invited me here, of course. I would never show up unexpected. As you pointed out, I couldn’t if I wanted to. Hogwarts is protected against unwanted intruders.’

Severus’s scowl deepened. ‘The headmaster invited you to visit in the middle of the night?’ 

Harry laughed lightly. ‘No, no, of course not. We met up earlier for dinner and then Albus invited me back. He ... lets me stay sometimes. It’s easier for me.’ 

‘He ... lets you ... stay?’ Severus repeated, carefully announciating each word. 

Harry flushed a little. ‘Yes,’ he said defiantly. ‘What are you going to tell me there isn’t enough room? In a great big castle like this.’

‘The amount of space available is not in question,’ Severus hissed. ‘This castle is for the exclusive use of the staff and students of Hogwarts school.’ 

‘And they can’t have guests?’ Harry thew back. ‘Look, if you have a problem why don’t you take it up with the headmaster?’

Of course Severus wasn’t about to do that. 

‘What are you doing down here then?’ He demanded. ‘Surely, you have no exams left to study for.’ 

He grabbed at one of the books, glanced over its contents. _Healing Herbs._ Neat diagrams of leaves and roots, separating the medicine from the poison 

Realisation dawned. 

‘Not quite all my exams,’ Harry said. ‘I still have to pass my final exam to qualify as a healer.’ 

‘Oh, yes.’

Severus felt embaressed, although he hadn’t done anything wrong. Harry was, despite his protests, trespassing in the school. He was not supposed to be here.

‘How long?’ He heard himself inquire. 

‘Just a few weeks now,’ Harry said. ‘The headmaster has been helping me study and the school has a lot of specialist books in its collection. I got a a key for the cabinets from Madame Pierce. She said I could help myself, as long as I didn’t disturb the students.’

‘Why didn’t you say that from the start?’ Severus snapped. 

Harry shrugged. ‘You make me nervous,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to explain things to you.’ 

How was Severus supposed to respond to that. He tossed the book back on the table with a little snort. Then he squinted at Harry. The thing that had been bothering him about him, ever since he first laid eyes on him finally became clear. 

‘Are those ... the Headmaster’s robes?’ 

Harry started again and glanced down at himself as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. 

‘Um, yes. He leant them to me.’ 

Severus waited until his patience wore thin. 

‘Why?’ he said slowly, stretching the word out. 

Harry shrugged, going very red. ‘I don’t know. It’s - it’s been a long day.’ 

He could have been caught in the rain flying up to the castle. Or fallen over into a muddy puddle. Or torn his clothes in an unexpected accident. Half a dozen explanations scrambled to forefront of Severus’s mind in an attempt to crowd out the most obvious one. 

He discounted them all in seconds, against his will. It had not rained for days. A simple spell could clear dirt from cloth and mend a tear. Harry had not flown to the castle. He had used floo power. They had met for dinner, in their best clothes. 

The robes Harry was wearing now were far too long for him and an obnoxious shade of Magenta, with little glittering stars all over them. They simply screamed Albus Dumbledore, Severus wondered why it had taken him so long to recognise them. 

Perhaps Harry had not expected to stay over tonight. Perhaps the Headmaster had leant him these clothes to sleep in. _Except_ \- his traitor brain hissed - _they not bedclothes_. They were fine silk with fancy beads and little sequins sewn in. Not at all appropriate for sleeping in. 

Albus Dumbledore owned many fine nightgowns and dressing gowns. Severus knew, having dragged the old man out of bed for many a late-night catastrophe. He could have leant any of those to Harry. Instead, Harry was wearing one of Albus’s best, (most garish), robes. The sort of outfit the Headmaster would put on for a special occasion. Like the Christmas Feast, or the first day of term, or, perhaps, dinner with an old friend. 

And then ... much later ... he had discarded the robe and Harry had picked it up, off of the floor or the back of a chair, and put it on so that he was ... decent when he went downstairs to visit the library. 

A cold, clammy feeling came over Severus, like the start of a fever. It was all wrong. _So wrong_. Madness, on his part, to even think of such a thing. All his time spent on the fringes of society, with the very dregs of humanity, had poisoned his mind. 

It was simply not possible. 

Severus regraded Harry in silence for several long minutes. The boy, who was still just a boy, for all he might be one and twenty, held his breath, anticipating further questions. 

They never came. Severus turned away, without another word and left Harry to his books. Wondering, as he did so, whether he would ever be able to sleep again. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Nightmares](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340204) by [ekatsim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekatsim/pseuds/ekatsim)


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